


Weasley Girl: Secrets of the Past

by Hyaroo



Series: Weasley Girl [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Female Ron, Female Ron Weasley, Friendship, Gen, Hogwarts Second Year, Male-Female Friendship, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-25 02:37:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 170,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3793561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyaroo/pseuds/Hyaroo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU, Sequel to "Weasley Girl." In an alternate universe where Ron Weasley was born a girl, and where Harry's first Hogwarts year turned out a little different as a result, the famous "Potter's Gang" are back for their second year at Hogwarts and hoping perhaps for a calmer year... </p><p>...but with a dramatic escape, a mysterious diary, a strange cat, a "loony" girl, a hidden monster and many past secrets coming to light, it looks like this year will be at least as eventful and dangerous as the previous one.</p><p>Second novel in the "Weasley Girl" Trilogy. Fem!Ron, everyone else is their canon gender.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome, welcome to Weasley Girl: Secrets of the Past! (I considered calling this story "Weasley Girl 2: Weasley Girl Harder," but decided that'd just sound like an unfortunate innuendo and the joke wasn't that funny anyway.)
> 
> For any new readers: In case you couldn't guess from the above statement, this is the sequel to my previous fic, Weasley Girl. I do suggest you read that before you read this one, but the premise is that Ron Weasley was born a girl, named Veronica "Ronnie" Weasley - and a different Weasley dynamic and slightly different relationships has led to a butterfly effect that made for a very different first year at Hogwarts for Harry and friends. Now, second year is about to start, and will probably be different too...
> 
> Just as a warning: The first story got the "General" rating, but just to be on the safe side I went with the "Teens And Up" rating on this one. It shouldn't be too much worse, but this story is a little darker, there are more adult implications/innuendos, and there's quite a bit more naughty language here. Because this story is mainly told from Ronnie's POV, and the girl likes to swear.
> 
> There will also be at least one character death this time around. *dramatic music!*

Just outside the village of Ottery St Catchpole, nestled in between rolling hills, trees and meadows — and so hidden that even the postman didn't know how to find it — stood a tall and crooked house. The few people who knew of its existence called it  _'the Burrow.'_

The Burrow was like no other house in or around the village, or for that matter, any other house in England. It looked like it had been put together (in an extremely slapdash and illogical way) by spare rooms from other houses, by someone who had only the faintest idea of what a finished house should look like, and a casual observer might very well expect it to tumble down at the first strong breeze.

The fact that it  _hadn't_  could be attributed to one very important factor: The Weasley family, who called the Burrow their home, were all wizards and witches, and knew how to magically make sure that the house with its many extensions didn't have to worry about pesky things like gravity or other physical laws in order to stay up.

Good thing too, because the Burrow was never what you'd call a serene and peaceful place. With a father who obsessed over Muggle contraptions, a mother whose voice could be heard for miles around, five teenage sons and two pre-teen daughters, the oldest of whom was always bringing home stray animals, there wasn't enough hours in the day for peace and quiet. Especially not when you added to the mix an attic ghoul, an impossible number of garden gnomes, several free-roaming chickens and of course all the useful if noisy things that tend to gather in a wizard home over the years.

Even when night had fallen and everyone were supposed to be asleep, you could never be quite sure that someone wasn't awake and plotting something.

Veronica and Ginevra Weasley, known to friends and family as simply  _'Ronnie,'_  and  _'Ginny,_ ' were lying in their beds in the room they shared on the first floor, fully dressed under their covers, and waiting for everyone else in the house to go to sleep.

Ginny shifted in her bed. "It's been ten minutes since Mum went upstairs," she whispered.

Ronnie glanced at the clock on the wall, right above the cage where Ginny's pet rat Scabbers was sleeping. The hand had moved from  _BEDTIME_  to  _LONG PAST BEDTIME,_ and was slowly inching its way towards _I MEAN IT, GIRLS, STOP TALKING AND GO TO SLEEP._ "Give her ten more minutes to be on the safe side," she said. "She always takes some time going to sleep when Dad's not home."

"She sometimes takes a long time going to sleep then Dad  _is_ home too," said Ginny with a slight giggle. "You know, when they're —"

"Yes, I know,  _thank_  you!" Ronnie felt herself go pink. She knew her parents hadn't had seven children by holding hands, and anyone with such a keen interest in animals would soon be robbed of any illusions they might have had about where babies came from, but in the case of her parents she was perfectly happy not knowing the details.

Ginny cheerfully stuck out her tongue, but Ronnie ignored her and instead turned around to look at the small pile of letters on her bedside table.

It was all the letters she'd got this Summer, and on the top of the pile were the ones she'd got from Hermione and Neville.

Partly to signal to Ginny that any discussion about their parents and their, er,  _sleeping_  habits would be ignored, and partly to kill the ten minutes she had given herself, she picked one letter from the stack, rolled over on her back, folded it out and began reading. It wasn't too difficult making out Hermione's neat handwriting even in the relative darkness of the room:

_Dear Ronnie,_

_Thank you for your letter (and for the Chocolate Frog! I hid it from my parents because they don't like me eating sweets in the middle of the week, but as long as I brush my teeth afterwards there's no danger!)._

_I hope you're still enjoying your holiday. I'm simultaneously enjoying it and being extremely frustrated by it. I love being back home with my parents, and you wouldn't believe how much I appreciate all the small Muggle things that I took for granted before. (Television, Ronnie! You've probably never seen it, and honestly I've never been much of one for it before, but I had no idea how much I would miss not being able to catch up on certain programs! I'm going to show you one day!)_

_At the same time, I miss Hogwarts, and I miss being able to use magic. I know it's against the rules to use magic outside school and in front of Muggles, but sometimes I wish I could do just a little in front of Mum and Dad. Just so, I don't know, they'd be able to see what I was learning. I can of course share my written notes or the Summer essays, but it's not like in primary school, when I could show them my school work and get their help and opinions, because when it comes to magic they know less than I do. Do you ever get your parents' help with schoolwork, or maybe your brothers'?_

_That was a stupid question. You haven't even started on any of the Summer assignments, have you? Don't try to lie; I know you haven't._

_What I miss most of all, however is you. And the boys, of course. Mum and Dad are great, but I can't talk to them the way I can to you. Have you heard from either Harry or Neville? I haven't heard anything from Harry, but Neville sent me a letter. Poor boy, he's come down with a cold and his Gran barely lets him leave his room. I sent him a letter telling him about various Muggle home remedies for the common cold, but I don't know if they'll work for him._

_I'm really worried about Harry, though. He never seems to want to talk about it, but I don't think his Muggle relatives are treating him well. You'll let me know if you hear something, won't you?_

_Say hello to your family for me!_

_Love,  
_ _Hermione_

 

Ronnie read that paragraph about Harry again, and her stomach twisted a little. But ten minutes had not yet passed, so Ronnie grabbed another letter from the pile; this one written in Neville's slightly less tidy handwriting:

_Dear Ronnie,_

_Hope you're well? Hope you're better than me, at least, because I've caught the worst cold I've ever had. And I discovered another drawback to being immune to potions: Pepper-Up Potion doesn't work at all, so now I have a sore throat, a stuffy nose and about a hundred coughing fits an hour._

_Gran barely lets me get out of bed, but she does at least allow me to write in bed. I've been writing to quite a few people, and at least one of them should be of interest to Harry. I won't tell you who it is in case Harry wants to say it himself. I've written to him about it, so he should know._

_If he even got the letter. I don't know. He promised to write, but he hasn't. Maybe the Muggles he lives with don't let him have letters? He hardly ever talks about them, but they don't sound like very nice people. Or maybe he's sick too? I hope he's all right._

_Now I realise I'm just talking about myself and Harry in this letter. I'm thinking a lot about you too, and Hermione, of course. I'm getting a little tired, though, so I think I'm going to end this letter now. I'll write more later._

_Your friend Neville._

 

  
Ronnie put the letter carefully down, once again reading the part about Harry and feeling her stomach twist a little more.

It was true that Harry never really went into detail about his Muggle life, but he hadn't exactly hidden that he didn't get along with his relatives. At first Ronnie had thought it was just the same kind of good-natured complaining that she herself indulged in when the subject of, say, Fred and George or Percy came up, but over the months, the comments and hints from Harry had added up.

What  _had_  they sent him to, for an entire Summer, and completely unprotected at that? July had come and gone, and Ronnie must have written at least a dozen letters to him, but none of them had received any answers.

It would have been easy to blame the family owl, Errol, who was old and confused and didn't always deliver the letters to the people he was supposed to, but even he should have managed to get at least a  _couple_ of Ronnie's letters through. Something else had to be the matter. Ronnie had taken to watch the sky for long periods of time, hoping to see the familiar white form of Hedwig, flying towards the Burrow with letters from Harry... but no Hedwig ever showed.

And then, two days ago, shortly after Ronnie had sent what had to be her thirteenth letter to Harry, Dad (who after all worked at the Ministry for Magic) had come home from work and informed to everyone's surprise that Harry had got an official warning from the Ministry for using magic in front of Muggles.

In and of itself, this wasn't such a huge deal. According to Dad almost all Muggle-borns and kids who lived among Muggles ended up getting at least one such warning during one of the Summer holidays. But combined with the absolute silence from Harry otherwise it was unnerving. So Ronnie had decided that enough was enough. With Hermione in the Muggle world and Neville sick and bed-ridden, it had to be up to  _her_ to act.

She sent letters to them both, informing them of the situation and that she was going to get Harry, and after that had allied herself with Ginny to make plans. 

They already had Harry's Muggle address: Number Four Privet Drive, in Little Whinging, Surrey. Neither Ginny nor Ronnie had been to Surrey before, but they  _had_  been to London, several times, and Surrey was right next to London, wasn't it?

Ten minutes hadn't quite passed, but she didn't want to wait any longer. She threw her covers aside and sat up. She was dressed in a yellow tee-shirt and faded knee-length shorts; the perfect outfit to wear in bed when you have to get up without dressing. Placing her bare feet on the floor, she motioned for Ginny to get up as well. "Right," she said. "We're going. Get your socks and shoes."

Ginny lay still. Her face had gone red. "I'm not going," she murmured.

"The hell you're not!" said Ronnie, not managing to hide her surprise.

"Harry won't want me to come for him. He's — he's  _Harry Potter_  and I'm just a silly girl who squeaks and hides when he looks at me." Ginny pulled her covers over her head, hiding herself.

"Bloody hell, Ginny, we've been over this!" Ronnie groaned in exasperation. Ginny was usually a good person to have by your side in various adventures and misadventures, but when it came to a certain Boy Who Lived, she could be so...  _silly_. "Harry's not that incredible hero from the bedtime story. He's — he's just  _Harry!_  He's got messy hair and bad eyesight, he likes treacle tart, he named his owl after someone he read about in a book, he spent months thinking Quidditch was weird before he actually saw a game! He didn't know phoenixes are reborn from the ashes! He's got a dangerously good memory, but manages to be rubbish at History of Magic anyway —"

"But I  _kissed_  him! He'll remember that, and he'll think I'm stupid, and I'll die, I'll  _die!"_

_"Ginny."_  Ronnie fought to keep her voice calm. "Okay, he'll remember it, but he won't think you're stupid, and you  _won't_ _die!"_ (Oops, so much for a calm voice.)

"You don't know what it's like!" came Ginny's voice from underneath the covers. "You've never been in love, unless we count all those animals of yours!"

"You're right, I haven't," said Ronnie, pulling the covers off her sister and throwing them to the floor. "And if this is how it makes you act, I don't ever _want_ to! But Harry's a friend, and —" She paused. The memory of being Imperiused was lurking in the back of her head, but she repressed it. She didn't want to think about it. "I owe him a lot, all right? And if he's in trouble, I have to go and help him!"

Free of her covers, and dressed in her green tee-shirt and shorts, Ginny curled up into a little ball and hid her face.

"Fine,  _don't_ come then!" Ronnie sighed in exasperation — but then a thought struck her, and she had to suppress a smile. "Y'know, Ginny, I'm impressed! Bet there aren't many people who can prove Professor Dumbledore wrong like you!"

Ginny uncovered her face and peeked up, confusion in her brown eyes. "Professor Dumbledore? What's he got to do with anything?"

"Well," said Ronnie, "after we'd faced You-Know-Who last Christmas, and Harry saved my life and all that, Dumbledore told me that love was the most powerful thing in the world. But you're living proof that love just makes you squeak and hide away when the guy you love needs your help."

Ginny sat up, the red color of her face darkening. "Shut up!"

"Well, do  _you_ call that power? Because I don't."

"Okay,  _fine!"_  Ginny snapped and sprung to her feet. "I'll do it! I'll bloody well come with you! Happy now?"

Ronnie let out a sigh of relief. She really hadn't wanted to do this alone. "Yep."

Silent as two Augureys on a hot and dry day in Summer, the girls sneaked down the stairs to the kitchen, careful not to tread on the creakiest steps, and past the fireplace and the owl perch, where good old Errol was going quite against his otherwise nocturnal nature by sleeping soundly, completely worn out after so many trips to Surrey with letters for Harry. He didn't so much as stir as the girls tip-toed past him and carefully opened the door that led out into the front yard.

It wasn't the first time the Weasley sisters had sneaked out of bed after everyone else had gone to sleep, but this time it wasn't about borrowing their brothers' broomsticks or getting up to mischief; this was  _serious_.

The August night was pleasantly cool, and the landscape was silent in a way it never got during the day. Ronnie took a deep breath, partly because she liked the feel of the night air but mostly because she was steeling herself for what was to come, and followed by Ginny she hurried over across the yard and towards the garage.

 

* * *

 

 

"We're almost there!" said Ronnie loudly.

In the passenger's seat, Ginny awoke with a start. "Huh? Er, oh. What time is it?" She looked a little embarrassed that she had fallen asleep.

"No idea. I think we've been in the air for about two hours or something." Ronnie decided not to comment on her sister falling asleep — the poor girl was only eleven, after all, and it was long past midnight — and instead concentrated on the landscape outside. Clouds were drifting past them, and below them, lights from buildings and street-lamps spread out; marking that this was Little Whinging, Surrey, the town where Harry lived.

Of course,  _officially_ speaking, Ronnie wasn't anywhere near old enough to drive, but then  _officially_ speaking the Weasley family car wasn't supposed to be able to fly either.

Dad had bought it used; a cheap, rusty wreck of a 1963 Ford Anglia that he'd spent ages tinkering with, taking apart and putting together again, trying to figure out how it worked and how to make it run again. He loved Muggle contraptions of all kinds, especially vehicles and things that ran on eckletricity, and had a sizable collection of them in the shed that did triple duty as garage, chicken coop and workshop.

He'd enchanted a fair few of them too, placed spells on them to give them new and strange abilities — like for example turning the car into Britain's only flying car.

Strictly speaking, this was against the law; the Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objects was very clear that charmed or enchanted Muggle artefacts were liable to fall into Muggle hands and as such risk exposing magic and wizardkind to Muggles. But Dad had exploited a loophole in the law; if wasn't directly illegal to enchant Muggle artefacts, or even to  _own_ enchanted Muggle artefacts, only to  _use_ enchanted Muggle artefacts. A pretty fine line, to be sure, but since Dad himself was the head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, he wasn't in much danger of being prosecuted.

At least not if certain children kept a low profile when they borrowed the car, only flew at night, kept above the clouds for the most part and made sure to use the Invisibility Booster when they had to get close to the ground.

"Better get out the map, Ginny," said Ronnie as she steered the car a little lower. "Harry lives in the suburbs, a street called Privet Drive."

It took Ginny a little while to find where they were on the map, and where to fly in order to reach Privet Drive, but after a bit of wavering back and forth she managed to point out the direction.

The streets and houses underneath them were quiet and peaceful; a few houses had lights on but mostly they were dark, the only lights coming from street-lamps and the occasional Muggle car driving through the night. The Ford Anglia soared above them all, silent and undetected, as Ronnie followed Ginny's directions.

"Er, I think this is Magnolia Crescent... or possibly Magnolia Road," said Ginny, peering down at the rows of houses gliding past underneath. "That means Privet Drive is in  _that_  direction... I think. Why d'you suppose they had to make all these houses and streets look so  _identical?!"_  she sighed. "It's impossible to tell where we are when everything looks alike!"

"Cheaper to build 'em that way, I expect," said Ronnie, who as the sixth of seven children knew all about not having much money.

"But it's so  _dull!_  I would have gone mad if I had to live in a place like this! Boring houses with boring gardens and yards, and boring cars parked outside..." Ginny cut herself off and gasped, staring out the window. "Ronnie, go back! Go back!"

"What? Did we pass it?"

"Yes, I think so — Ronnie, do Muggles usually have bars over their windows?"

"Er... not that I know. Why?"

"Because one house, and I think that was Number Four, has iron bars in front of one of their upstairs windows!"

_"What?"_  Ronnie spun the wheel around and brought the car back to the house in question — and true enough, in front of one upstairs windows, around the back yard, iron bars had been fitted. Solid, forbidding-looking iron bars that wouldn't be easily visible from the street, but for someone flying they were clear as day.

Ronnie felt her stomach sink as she maneuvered the car in so that she could look inside. Hoping that she was wrong, hoping that she wouldn't see what she knew she would see...

Inside, in a small and messy room, filled up with all sorts of Muggle contraptions, most of which looked broken beyond repair, a familiar white owl was peering back at her from its too-small cage... and beside, on an untidy bed, a black-haired boy was lying, fully dressed and in a fitful sleep.

"Harry," said Ronnie. "And Hedwig! This is why we haven't seen any letters! They've been locked up."

Ginny fought to get beside Ronnie and look as well, growing red with anger as she saw the fitfully sleeping Harry. "We have to get him out of there!" she demanded.

"Damn right we do! Here, hold me steady, I'll see if I can knock on the window, get his attention -" Ronnie grunted and strained as she pushed herself halfway out the window and stretched out. With Ginny clinging to her so she wouldn't fall, she managed to grab the bars in front of the window with one hand, leaving the other free to squeeze in between the bars and knock.

At first, it didn't seem like Harry had heard. But then Hedwig, who seemed to have understood what Ronnie was trying to do, turned her head towards the boy and screeched several times. With the third screech, Harry opened his eyes.

For a few seconds, it didn't look like he knew where he was. Then, he must have heard the knocking on the window, because he looked straight at her, and his green eyes widened in surprise. He reached out to grab his glasses from his bedside table, put them on and blinked several times, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"Hi, Harry!" said Ronnie, trying to smile.

Five seconds later, he was up by the window, pushing it up so they could talk through the bars. "Ronnie," he said. "Ronnie, how did you —?  _What the —?"_  He'd noticed that she was in a flying car.

"Surprise!" said Ronnie. It was a silly thing to say, but it was the only thing that came to mind. She was starting to get tired, hanging halfway out the window too. "We're here to rescue you!  _Ginny, if you let go now, I'll hex your arse into next week!"_ she yelped when Ginny's hold on her loosened a bit.

"But what —" Harry still looked confused, but then grew concerned. "Ronnie, you're using magic!" He pointed to the flying car. "You can't — I've already got a warning from the Ministry for using magic in front of Muggles — they'll think it's me again —"

"We know about the warning," Ronnie grunted, trying to push herself back into the car. "Dad works for the Ministry, remember?  _Agh!"_  Helped by Ginny, she finally managed to get herself back into safety, and had to catch her breath before she continued: "Anyway, the car won't set off the Trace, we've used it lots of times in Muggle areas."

"The what?"

"The Trace!" said Ronnie, and was about to add _'you know'_ when she suddenly remembered that Harry had known nothing about the wizarding world when he grew up, and had had his first introduction to it by Hagrid, who may very well have forgotten to mention the Trace. "It's what they put on us to see if we do underage magic outside Hogwarts. Why'd you  _do_ that, anyway? What's been happening? I've written to you about thirteen times, and Hermione and Neville have written to you, and Dad came home and told us you'd got an official warning from the Ministry —"

"It's a long story." Harry sighed. "Look, I can't get out, and they won't let me out. Can you can you tell them at Hogwarts that the Dursleys have locked me up and won't let me come back? Maybe they can send someone."

"Bugger that!" said Ronnie. "We're getting you out of there,  _now!"_

"But how? You can't use magic either!"

Ronnie had to think about it for a moment. This was one of the times when she wished Fred and George were here; they were clever and resourceful (and always had some joke items on them that probably wouldn't set off the Trace)...

"The rope," said Ginny suddenly. "We can tie one end to the car, and another end to the bars, and then pull them off!"

"That could actually work!" Ronnie beamed at her little sister. "You're a genius!"

It was the work of a few moments to find the rope, which was coiled up together under the passenger's seat (Dad insisted that all Muggles had rope in their cars in case the engine stopped running and they needed to be towed somewhere), and didn't take too long either to secure the rope to the car, and then toss one end to Harry and tell him to tie it around one of the bars.

"If the Dursleys wake up, I'm dead," Harry warned as he stepped back from the window.

"Not while I'm around," said Ronnie, who was starting to really hate these Dursleys. It seemed like everything she'd inferred from the small details Harry had given was true. "Stand back!" And with that, she stepped on the pedal. With a roar, the car shot up into the air, until a jolt and a crunching noise informed them that the bars had been yanked clean off the window by the sheer force.

Ronnie's heart pounded in her chest; so much noise, someone had to have heard it. But the seconds passed and Privet Drive was just as calm and peaceful as before.

"Right, Harry," she called softly. "I'll drive the car back to the window, and then you can get in."

"But my Hogwarts stuff — my wand, my trunk," said Harry. "They're locked up in the cupboard under the stairs."

"These Muggles of yours don't make it easy, do they," Ronnie sighed. "Hang on, then, I'm coming in."

Two minutes later, she had climbed in through the window, leaving Ginny in the driver's seat as the car hovered nicely outside. As soon as she set foot on Harry's floor, she threw her arms around him and gave him a big hug. He was still shorter than her, and so skinny that she could feel his ribs against her chest. Damn these Dursleys, had they been starving him too?

"Were you that worried about me?" said Harry, sounding oddly touched.

"Course I was, you arse!" Ronnie squeezed him a little tighter and then let go. "Looks like I was right to worry too! Have you been shut in here all Summer?"

"Nah, just the last three days," said Harry, as if this was nothing to mention. "There was a bit of trouble with a house-elf named Dobby - "

"What?" Ronnie couldn't believe her own ears.

"You don't know what a house-elf is?"

"Yeah, I know what a house-elf is, but what was one doing in a Muggle house? They come with mansions and old wizard families, and — never mind," she cut herself off. "You can tell us all about it on the way. Hello, Hedwig!" she said, turning to the owl, which hooted joyfully in greeting. "First of all, let's get you out of that cage."

"It's locked," said Harry glumly. "Uncle Vernon has the key."

"Good thing I don't need a key, then," said Ronnie, beginning to dig in the pockets of her shorts. She didn't usually have a whole lot in her pockets when wearing Muggle clothing, but... yes, there it was! She fished the hairpin out and held it up. "I've been picking locks since I was seven," she said proudly. "That's when Mum and Dad started locking the broom shed."

The lock to the birdcage was without question the easiest lock Ronnie had ever picked; a few strategic twists with the hairpin, and it clicked open. Probably whoever had made this lock hadn't bothered to make it very secure, figuring that a bird wouldn't be able to pick locks anyway.

Hedwig was out of the cage in no time, flapping her wings and landing on Ronnie's shoulder to gratefully nip her ear. It tickled more than it hurt, and Ronnie had to stifle a giggle.

"Thank goodness," said Harry. "She's been locked up all Summer. The Dursleys don't like owls, they've had enough of wizard mail after last year's avalanche of Hogwarts letters."

"So they kept her locked up in a tiny cage? Poor Hedwig!" Ronnie softly stroked Hedwig's feathers with a finger. "The sooner we get both of you out of here, the better."

"Can you pick the lock on the door too? And the cupboard?" Harry was starting to look excited.

"No problem!" Ronnie turned around, and Hedwig lifted up off her shoulder to land on the windowsill. "Start gathering all the stuff in this room that you want to bring with you, and I'll get right on it! Pick the lock, go downstairs, find the cupboard and pick that lock too! Easy as falling off a broomstick!"

"Okay, but watch out for the bottom stair. It creaks."

"Right," said Ronnie, though secretly she thought that if the noise of iron bars being ripped off a window hadn't woken the Dursleys, a little creaking probably wasn't going to do it.

But, though she felt she could rightfully pat herself on the back for dealing with unforeseen obstacles, Ronnie soon found herself facing another obstacle, one that upon further thought shouldn't have been so unforeseen: _She couldn't lift Harry's trunk._

She could have kicked herself. Now that she thought about it, she remembered all too well how heavy the thing had been last year, when she had helped Harry get it onto the Hogwarts Express. That time it had taken the combined forces of herself, Harry, Fred and George to lift it the two steps up to the compartment. While Ronnie was pretty certain she was stronger now than she had been back then, the trunk was heavier too, and the staircase much longer.

Maybe if she got Harry and possibly Ginny's help — no, they wouldn't manage to get it up that long staircase, she was certain about that. Not without help, or magic. Fred and George could probably have managed, but they weren't here. There was nothing for it; she'd have to unpack and carry the things and books up, a few items at a time. It'd take longer, but it was the only way.

She'd just picked the lock of Harry's trunk and lifted the lid, looking over all the various things and wondering which things she should get out first, when she heard footsteps silently coming down the stairs. Thinking it was Harry who came to see how she was getting on, she backed out of the cupboard... and found herself face-to-face with a boy she didn't know.

He was as tall as she was, maybe even a little taller, and about four times as wide, was wearing a blue-striped pyjamas, and had small piggish eyes that was currently wide open in total shock.

"Oh, bugger," said Ronnie. This had to be Harry's cousin — what was his name again? Had Harry even mentioned it?

"Who are you?" Harry's cousin demanded, taking a step back.

"Er," said Ronnie. The truth wouldn't do any good, she knew, but the only lie she could think of was: "I'm a house-elf, I'm here to do the washing-up, er, sorry, I thought this was the kitchen."

Harry's cousin narrowed his eyes. "You're one of those  _freaks_ , aren't you?" he said.

"Freaks?" Ronnie blinked in surprise. Of all the things she'd expected him to say, this was pretty low on the list.

"A  _girly_  freak!" Harry's cousin seemed to have got over his initial fright; maybe he didn't find girls threatening, or maybe he had just realized that he was bigger than her. "What are you doing here? We don't like freaks in this house!"

"Self-loathers, are you?!" The words just fell out of Ronnie's mouth without bothering to stop by her brain.

They were standing only inches apart now, glaring at one another. Harry's cousin was clenching his fists and raising them, apparently trying to look menacing. "Don't think I'll be nice to you just 'cause you're a girl," he said.

"Bring it on," said Ronnie, clenching her fists as well.

And Harry's cousin did — but not in the way she'd expected. With an evil smile he straightened himself and yelled at the top of his voice: _"DAD! MUM! HARRY'S GOT A GIRL IN THE HOUSE!"_

Harry appeared on the top of the stairs, a terrified expression on his face. "Dudley!" he cried (oh, so that was the cousin's name then), but this was all he had time to say before a loud and unintelligible exclamation interrupted everything.

A very fat man with a mustache and a skinny woman with a long neck appeared next to Harry, both wearing hastily-put-on dressing gowns and looking like they had just sprang out of bed.

"Uncle Vernon — Aunt Petunia —" Harry took a step back. "Look, this is just a —"

"What are you doing outside your room, boy? You're supposed to be locked up —" The man, who was apparently 'Uncle Vernon,'  looked like he was about to grab Harry, but then he changed his mind and instead came charging down the stairs. "Dudley! Get away from her!" he yelled. "Don't you dare do anything to my son, you freak!"

Despite his vast bulk, he came at them so fast that both Dudley and Ronnie had to throw themselves aside to avoid a collision. Dudley stumbled into the cupboard, while Ronnie slid a few feet down the hallway, finding herself being towered over by the largest and angriest Muggle man she'd ever seen.

"Leave her alone!" Harry was speeding down the stairs as well. "She's my friend!"

_"Friend?!"_  Uncle Vernon staggered and turned purple. "I knew you were depraved, boy, but having a girl spend the night —  _under my roof!"_

"It's not like that!" Harry began, but his protest fell on deaf ears.

"I don't know what sort of  _perversions_ you people get up to at that school of yours, but I won't have it in  _my_ house, you hear me?!"

"You — you people are barking mad!" said Ronnie, feeling herself turn pink again. These Muggles were worse than she'd imagined, and she was completely losing control of the situation. "We're _twelve!"_

"Leave my sister alone!" It was Ginny, who had apparently heard the commotion and was now storming out of Harry's room with a furious expression on her face. She rushed past Aunt Petunia, shoving her as she leaped down the stairs to join Harry and Ronnie.

"Another one?!" Recovering her balance Aunt Petunia looked white. "How many girls do you  _have_  in your room?" she snapped at Harry.

But nobody answered her, because now Ginny was running up to stand defiantly in between Harry and Uncle Vernon. She seemed even smaller than usual next to the enormous Muggle man, but she placed her hands on her hips and looked so fierce that he actually pulled back for a moment. "We're here to fetch Harry," she said. "And take him somewhere where he doesn't have to be locked up!"

There was a long pause as Harry, Weasley sisters and Dursleys regarded each other.

Finally, Uncle Vernon spoke again, and turned to Petunia. "These people send children out in the middle of the night to break into the homes of respectable, law-abiding citizens. This is the thanks we get for having looked after one of their freaks for more than ten years!"

"That's  _Harry Potter_  you're talking about!" Ginny fumed. "Do you have any idea who he is — what he means to everyone in our world?!"

Uncle Vernon looked at her. The purple colour of his face was fading, and his voice was much calmer than before, but there was no warmth in it: "So why doesn't 'everyone in your world' take care of him? Why send him to  _us?!_  When his parents went and got themselves blown up, the precious people of  _your world_ didn't even contact us and ask if we wanted to take him! No, they just left him on the doorstep, with a message that we had to take him in! Had to, they said — not a thought as to whether we could afford him or had room for him!"

Ronnie's stomach twisted. She herself came from a large family with little money, but though Mum would occasionally sigh over lack of money, or lose her temper with her children, there'd never been any question that they were all wanted. Though she hadn't seen all of Number Four Privet Drive, but she would definitely classify it as 'posh.' She couldn't believe that the Dursleys had ever had too little room or too little money for two children, and hearing Vernon Dursley talk like this made her feel strangely queasy.

"There are many people who'd just have dumped him off in an orphanage and be rid of him!" Uncle Vernon continued. "But we of course had to be too kind-hearted for our own good! We took him in, and for ten years we've fed him, clothed him, made sure he had a roof over his head! And do we get any thanks? Do we get anything other than problems and freakish behaviour from him?!"

"I never asked to be put here either," said Harry.

_"YOU CAN SHUT YOUR UNGRATEFUL MOUTH!"_  Uncle Vernon suddenly roared, his face going purple again. "We let you traipse all the way to a freak school, and what's the result? Filling the house with — with  _girls_ just as freaky as you are!"

Dudley, who had remained halfway in the cupboard and watching the events unfold, piped up: "Bet he's starting a harem! Like that Sultan on TV! Soon the house'll be full of girls who walk around in their knickers and with their tits all bared and —"

"What?!  _Harem_? Why would you even say that?" Harry yelped at his cousin, though Dudley's smile told Ronnie better than words that he'd only said it to get Harry into more trouble.

And it looked like it worked too, because it looked like his parents completely believed him. Uncle Vernon began yelling, louder than before:  _"SO THAT'S YOUR PLAN, IS IT, BOY?! CORRUPTING DUDLEY, DRAGGING HOME A BUNCH OF HALF-NAKED —!_ " He stopped himself, and then grabbed both Ronnie and Ginny by the shoulders. "You two are _leaving! Now!"_  he demanded, pushing them towards the entrance door. "And you can go straight to that Headmaster of yours and tell him that the boy is never coming back!"

And that was when Ronnie kicked him in the groin.

She hadn't actually planned on doing it. She'd often enough threaten to kick the balls of any male who angered her, but she had never actually done it to anyone before now — and hadn't been completely prepared for the reaction; the man's eyes bulged out and he made a half-choked sound that sounded like _"korrwumhphh"_  before he doubled over in pain and fell down.

Dudley and Aunt Petunia screamed and rushed towards him, momentarily taking their eyes off Harry and the Weasley sisters. Ronnie and Ginny seized the opportunity to scatter, with Ronnie rushing over to Harry, who was standing there in total shock.

"C'mon," she panted, grabbing his hand. "We're leaving! Ginny,  _run!"_

They stormed upstairs and into Harry's room, where Hedwig flapped her wings and screeched excitedly against them from the window. About twenty seconds later, Ginny came storming through the door as well, slamming it behind her. "Hurry up!" she panted. "They're coming!"

Ronnie didn't miss a beat. Racing over to the window, she saw to her relief that the Ford Anglia was still hovering just outside. "Get in the car!" she commanded. "Hedwig —"

"Let her fly beside us," said Harry. "She hasn't stretched her wings in ages! Er, you girls get in front, I'll get in the back!"

Hedwig hooted and nipped his finger affectionately, and seemed to agree with this plan before taking to her wings and flying out the window.

The Weasley sisters had just got into their places, Ronnie behind the wheel and Ginny in the passenger's seat, and Harry was on the windowsill and about to climb into the car, when the door to the bedroom was torn open, and all three Dursleys stormed in.

_"STOP THERE! YOU'RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE WITH THOSE HUSSIES!_ " Uncle Vernon screamed, sounding like he'd completely lost his mind. Harry was halfway in the car already, but Uncle Vernon had jumped forth with a roar and — Ronnie saw in the side mirror — managed to grab Harry's leg.

Ginny shrieked. 

But then, like a white streak of lightning, Hedwig was attacking Uncle Vernon, flying straight at his face, scratching and pecking and making him let go of Harry.

"Effing - owl!" He tried to hit at her, but Hedwig was too fast for him, and sailed elegantly away and into the night while Harry scrambled all the way into the car, and Ronnie stepped on the gas so the car took off and flew away.

_"Come back!"_  they heard Uncle Vernon's voice grow fainter behind them as they sped up. _"I mean it, Potter! If you leave now, we're DONE with you! As long as I live, you'll never set foot in this house again!"_

"And good riddance," said Ronnie firmly, speeding up and flying higher, eager to put as much distance between them and Privet Drive as possible.

"I'm going to buy Hedwig a ton of owl treats." Harry sat up in the back seat - a little out of breath, but unhurt. "Of course, it helps that it was Uncle Vernon, she hates him... he was the one who made her sit in that cage all Summer..." Then, his green eyes filled with worry. "I think he meant what he said. I won't be able to go back there."

"Good!" said Ronnie. "I knew your family was horrible, Harry, but not that they were _this_ bad. We'll manage somehow, you stay at Hogwarts for most of the year anyway. And in the Summer you can live with us; Mum and Dad already love you, I'm sure they'll say yes, you can have Bill's old room..."

"But my Hogwarts things." said Harry. "My wand and my Invisibility Cloak. Everything's still back with the Dursleys. I can probably replace most of it, but my wand... and the Invisibility Cloak..."

"Oh." Ronnie looked back at the vanishing Privet Drive. She didn't think it's do much good to turn around now; without magic there wasn't much they could do to retrieve Harry's things. Of course, Harry could get a new wand, and new Hogwarts things, he did have the money for it, but the Cloak was special. It had belonged to his father; just about the only keepsake Harry had after him. Nothing for it, then, they had to go back straight away, no way she was leaving it with those Muggles —

Ginny grinned triumphantly. And then, from wherever she had hidden it, she pulled out a familiar-looking bundle of silvery-gray cloth. It shone mysteriously in the moonlight as she wordlessly handed it to Harry. Along with, another surprise; a long thin wand made of holly.

Harry's face lit up, his eyes widening in pleasant surprise and shock behind his glasses. "You — you got them! How —?"

"You clever little minx!" Ronnie exclaimed, feeling an immense sense of pride in her sister. "You grabbed them from Harry's trunk when we ran upstairs!"

Ginny nodded. "Only had time to grab those two things, but I thought they were the most important..." She slowly turned red as Harry stared at her.

"You're a  _marvel!_ " said Harry, and looked like he meant it, as he clutched his two most prized possessions.

This, however, was too much for Ginny.  _"Squeak!_ " she said, and curled up in her seat, hiding herself from him and blushing more fiercely than ever before.

Harry looked confused, but Ronnie just sighed. "Not again. And she's been doing so well too."

 

 

 

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the start of "Weasley Girl: Secrets of the Past!" There'll be adventure, excitement, maybe a little horror, and more deviations from canon!
> 
> This first chapter is actually one of the reasons for the switching of POV from Harry to Ronnie; I knew that Ronnie, like canon Ron, would get worried about Harry and stage a rescue, but that she'd ally herself with Ginny rather than Fred and George - and since Harry's Summer with the Dursleys would play out exactly like in canon, Dobby and all, it was much more interesting to look at the scene from Ronnie's viewpoint. Besides, it gave me the opportunity to write the Weasley sisters as a team,
> 
> Oh, and yes: Dudley's comment about a harem is a slight reference-slash-"take that" to all those Harry/Harem fics out there.


	2. Long And Serious Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's been questions in on whether or not I'll make Potter's Gang Animagi, but — I'm not even gonna try to be coy here — the answer is no. Given that you can't pick what animal to turn into, the practical use of becoming an Animagus is extremely limited. It's also so difficult and time-consuming to do (not to mention, unregistered Animagi are thrown into Azkaban if discovered) that you'd need a reason beyond just "it'd be cool to turn into an animal at will." Unlike for example the Marauders, Harry and friends simply don't have any such reason. After all, there are lots of other cool magics they can do/learn which are both easier and more useful. And don't carry the risk of Azkaban.

Ginny was silent the entire time on the journey back to Devon. Occasionally, Ronnie had to look over at her to see if she'd fallen asleep again, but she hadn't. She was leant back in her seat, but her eyes were open and she was following Harry and Ronnie's conversation intently. It seemed like Harry understood that she couldn't quite handle talking to him right now, silly at that was. At least he didn't try to engage her in conversation.

He had enough to talk about anyway. The mystery of the warning from the Ministry had an even more mysterious explanation; it wasn't Harry who'd performed magic in front of Muggles, but the house-elf he'd mentioned, Dobby.

Really, most of his Summer hadn't been  _too_ bad, he could tell Ronnie — poor Hedwig had been kept in her cage the entire time ("If I'd been a little smarter, I'd have asked you to take care of her during Summer," Harry said. "She already adores you, and she'd have been much happier being able to fly about."), but Harry himself had largely been left alone. As long as he did his chores, the Dursleys were happier when they didn't have to see him. And besides, they hadn't known he wasn't allowed to use magic outside school. For all they knew, he could turn them all into insects if they angered him too much.

But then, three days ago, on Harry's birthday no less, this Dobby had shown up out of the blue and talked about great dangers and how Harry absolutely mustn't return to Hogwarts this year because of some awful plot to make terrible things happen at the school. It had been impossible to get any details out of him, or who was doing the plotting, but he had at least admitted that he had stolen all of Harry's mail out of some warped hope that Harry wouldn't want to return to Hogwarts if he thought everyone there had forgotten him.

When that hadn't helped and Harry still hadn't agreed to stay away from Hogwarts, Dobby had used magic to throw a pudding at one of the Dursleys' dinner guests, and made it look like it was Harry who did it. And then the letter from the Improper Use of Magic office had arrived, and the Dursleys had understood that they weren't in danger of being transformed into something even more disgusting than they already were.

"And that's when they locked me in," Harry finished. "Uncle Vernon paid a man to fit the bars over my window, and said I was never going back to 'that freak school' and that if I used magic to escape I'd be expelled anyway. Not that I could have done much magic anyway, with my wand locked away."

"Nice birthday," said Ronnie, trying to hide how shocked she was. Why did these Dursleys hate Harry so much? Why did they hate magic so much? Magic was so great... okay, it could do awful things as well (don't think about the Imperius!), but to live without it, to shun it so completely...

"Definitely less exciting than my eleventh birthday," Harry agreed. "That was when Hagrid showed up, told me I was a wizard and took me to Diagon Alley. That year I got an entire world as a birthday present... this year I got iron bars and a batty house-elf. Are they usually like that?"

"Are who usually like what?"

"House-elves. Are they usually so..." (Harry seemed to search for a good word) "...scared?"

"Hell if I know," Ronnie admitted. "Poor wizard families like us don't have house-elves. I've never even  _seen_ one." But she pondered. "Far as I know, house-elves love taking care of humans. Seems like this Dobby thought he was looking out for you somehow."

"I hope he doesn't make a habit of it," said Harry dryly. "I don't think I'll survive that kind of caretaking for too long."

"So you didn't get a single one of my letters? Not Hermione's or Neville's either?"

"Not one. Dobby had them all, but when I wouldn't agree to not go back to Hogwarts, he never gave them to me." Harry looked thoughtfully out the window. "What sort of plot d'you think he was talking about? I asked him if Voldemort was behind it, but he said no. Actually, he looked very strange when he said that, as if he was trying to give me a hint of some sort... but I couldn't work out what that might be."

"Hmmm. Any ideas, Ginny?" said Ronnie. "C'mon, you're the brains in this car."

But Ginny just shook her head.

As they thought about it and tried to figure out, a faint pinkish glow started spreading around the Eastern horizon, signaling the arrival of the sunrise, and with it a new morning. The colours were so beautiful that for a long moment Ronnie just sat and stared at them. Usually she woke up long after the sun had risen, so this was a rare and breathtaking sight, made all the better for the fantastic view they had from up here.

"We should get up this early more often," she said, watching Hedwig swoop by the car window.

"I'll remind you of that the next time I try to haul your arse out of bed in the morning," said Ginny, speaking for the first time since she'd given Harry his Cloak and wand. "We're almost home."

And true enough; there below them was the familiar village of Ottery St. Catchpole. Smaller and more rural than Little Whinging, maybe, but having seen them both from above Ronnie thought that Ottery St. Catchpole looked a lot friendlier and more approachable — Little Whinging, with its large square houses and similar-looking streets (be they ever so much cheaper to build) had just seemed, well, boring and disagreeable.

Of course, maybe it just seemed that way to her because her own town was a place she knew well. She'd often wandered the streets, alone or with Ginny, and watched all the Muggles who did so many strange things they weren't allowed to ask them about. Occasionally, they'd even meet one of the other wizarding families who lived in or around town (the Fawcetts or the Diggorys, mostly; hardly ever the Lovegoods, even though they lived the closest to the Burrow and had a girl around Ginny's age). Ronnie doubted that Little Whinging had any wizards or witches living there, apart from Harry.

And now it didn't even have him, she thought triumphantly as she brought the car down lower and the dark patchwork of fields and clumps of trees came closer and closer. Her best friend having to suffer such horrible living conditions? Not on  _her_ watch!

Yes, all in all, she felt she could be satisfied with herself now. Her plan, the plan  _she'd_ thought up and put into works, had gone brilliantly. Despite a few minor unforeseen snags, like the Dursleys waking up and Harry not getting his school things, they'd managed everything. Her and Ginny. They'd freed Harry (and Hedwig), and managed perfectly well to drive the car all the way to Surrey and back in a few hours.

"Going in for landing," she said, just as the Burrow grew larger and larger in front of them. No smoke from any of the chimneys, great! That meant Mum wasn't awake yet, that gave them more time to think of a way to explain Harry's sudden appearance —

"Oh, bugger," she suddenly gasped, just as the car landed softly in the front yard, scattering chickens everywhere.

"What!?" Harry and Ginny looked at her with startled expression.

Ronnie pulled the car to a stop and pointed towards the front door. There was Mum, with a frown on her face. Right next to her was none other than Professor Dumbledore - and right next to him, looking like she didn't want to be there at all, was  _Harry's Aunt Petunia._

* * *

 

 

 

"It is quite simple," said Professor Dumbledore, looking at them over his half-moon spectacles. "I had set up a simple alarm that would warn me when the protections around Privet Drive were in danger of breaking. The alarm has been silent for eleven years, but tonight it was set off."

"But we didn't break any protections," said Ronnie, not bothering to hide her confusion.

"Not intentionally, no," said Dumbledore. "Unfortunately, as I'm so often reminded, intent and outcome are rarely coincident. But it would be wrong to lay the entire blame on you. In my case, for example, I arrived too late — just after you had left, in fact. I met with a rather... hm...  _confused_ Dursley family who were screaming rather loudly about flying cars, harem girls and the general moral debauchery of wizards."

Ginny giggled, but was silenced by a look from Mum.

"Well, what were we supposed to think?" Aunt Petunia muttered. "Middle of the night — two half-naked girls in his bedroom —"

"What are you insinuating about my daughters?" Mum snapped.

"We're not half-naked! Tee-shirts and shorts is not half-naked!" said Ronnie at the same time.

"And then, just after you'd vanished, this old crackpot shows up and begins asking questions!" Aunt Petunia went on, as if neither of them had spoken. "And hauls me off to this — this — _place."_

"Ah yes," said Dumbledore. "There was little I could do to catch up with the car, but I surmised that you young ladies would indeed bring Harry here, so I decided to Apparate ahead with Petunia and wait for you so we could exchange stories and information."

They were gathered in the Weasley family kitchen for what had to be the earliest Weasley family conference ever held — not to mention the first one that also included Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore. Dad, Bill and Charlie were absent, of course (Bill and Charlie being abroad and Dad still at work), but Percy was looking disapproving enough for three, an Fred and George were staring at their younger sisters half in awe and half with envy. Petunia Dursley was looking sullen and uncomfortable, which came as no surprise.

Originally, Dumbledore had suggested that he might talk to Harry and Aunt Petunia privately, but Ronnie, and of course Ginny, had refused to leave Harry's side, and so the end of it was that they all remained together.

"I always knew you two were too wild for your own good," said Mum, looking at Ronnie and Ginny, "but  _this?_ Not even Fred and George would have done something this!"

"Wanna bet?" said Fred under his breath, but was ignored.

"Beds empty, car gone, not as much as a note! Do you have any idea how  _worried_ I was?! You could have  _died_ , you could have been  _seen —_ "

"We don't care!" Ginny exploded. "You don't know what that house was like!" She glared at Petunia as well.

"We were only doing what was best for the family," Petunia insisted. "That boy is completely out of control. He's even worse than his mother ever was."

"You locked him up!" said Ginny. "You  _starved_ him!"

"I had to protect my own son. Did any of you ever think about Dudders in this? Or about me and my husband? How do you think  _we_ felt, knowing that any time we could wake up as toads or have our beds transformed into hedgehogs? Just look at how he treated the poor Masons! We  _had_ to lock him up!" She looked at Dumbledore and Mum with terrified yet angry defiance. "But I don't suppose people like  _you_ ever consider the plight of  _normal_ people — and he didn't starve, he had three meals a day! We were  _humane!"_

"You were bloody loonies," Ronnie muttered.

It looked like a real fight was about to start, but when Dumbledore cleared his throat everyone, even Aunt Petunia, instantly calmed down.

"Petunia," he said. "Do you remember when I left Harry with you, all those years ago? Do you remember my letter? I told you to how to contact me if there were problems. You never did. What, I wonder, happened that made you feel justified in locking your nephew up, but  _not_  in contacting me?"

Aunt Petunia closed her mouth tightly.

"Could it perhaps be," said Dumbledore softly, "that you knew I would not approve of how you treated your nephew? How you seem to have treated him these last eleven years?" When he received no answer, the Headmaster went on: "I kept my distance, as you requested me to — after all, you were family and I was not. I had no authority over you, and while I did hear from certain acquaintances who have kept an eye on you from time to time that there was no love lost between you and your nephew —"

"You've been  _spying_ on us?" Aunt Petunia's eyes widened.

"Clearly I have not been spying on you closely enough," said Dumbledore, a little more firmly. "My acquaintances told me that while you were not treating Harry with the love and kindness he deserved, you didn't actually seem to be mistreating the boy. So to my eternal shame, I decided that the protection you offered him was more important, and I let the matter rest. But there were certain details you managed to keep hidden, wasn't it? Imagine my surprise when the enchanted quill addressed Harry's first Hogwarts letter to  _'the cupboard under the stairs.'"_

Aunt Petunia didn't answer.

"Of course, when the next few letters were all addressed to  _'the smallest bedroom,'_  I thought that first one must have been a mistake," Dumbledore continued. "For some reason, the spell must have written the wrong address, and that was why Harry did not get his letter. I knew your family was comfortably well off and that your house was more than large enough for two boys; that you would make one of them sleep in a cupboard was laughable. And, in a way, it  _is_ laughable. I suspect there are a lot of Death Eaters who would get a good laugh if they ever found out."

"I —" Aunt Petunia began, and then closed her mouth.

"Your treatment of your nephew," said Dumbledore, in a tone colder than Ronnie had ever heard from him, "has been nothing short of appalling. Harry is not Lily, Petunia. Whatever quarrel you had with your sister, it is wrong to let an innocent child pay for it."

"Innocent!" Aunt Petunia found her voice again, though it had turned rather shrill. "Innocent?! If you only  _knew_ all the trouble he's caused over the years —"

"Which you, I might remind you, never contacted me about," Dumbledore interrupted. "I would have been happy to help, and I told you as much in my letter. You never responded."

"Because I knew what sort of 'help' you would have given him," Aunt Petunia snapped. "Vernon and I swore, when we took the boy in, that we would keep him away from all that  _abnormality!"_

"Normality is such a relative term," said Dumbledore. "But Harry is perfectly normal for a young wizard — no, no, hear me out on this," he added when Aunt Petunia looked like she was about to say something. " _Harry is a wizard, Petunia._  There is nothing you can say or do to change that. Just as there was nothing you could say or do to change the fact that your sister was a witch — just as there was nothing I could say or do to change the fact that you are  _not."_

Fred and George both let out a sharp " _Hah!"_

"Now it makes sense!" said George.  _"Sour grapes!"_

"She wanted to be a witch," said Fred. "And when she wasn't, when she was only a Muggle —!"

"That's enough, you two!" said Mum sternly. "Mrs. Dursley can't help being a Muggle, any more than we can help  _not_ being Muggles!"

"She  _can_ help how she treated Harry," said Ronnie, whose loathing for Aunt Petunia had reached hitherto-unheard-of levels.

"You have no right to judge us," Aunt Petunia hissed. "I didn't come here to be insulted like this!"

"Correct," said Dumbledore. "You came here because you have something to tell Harry. I would do so  _now_ , if I were you."

For some reason, Aunt Petunia turned white. Then she slowly turned to look at Harry, who had been sitting there and looking uncomfortable about the entire situation. "Boy," she said, then cleared her throat and began again. "Harry. You can't — you can't come back to Privet Drive."

"Oh!" Harry's eyes widened. Most children would probably have been upset if they'd been told they could never come home again, but Harry looked as if Christmas had come early.

"It's because — it's because your Uncle Vernon threw you out."

"He didn't throw me out, I escaped," said Harry.

"But he said you were no longer welcome in our house. And I didn't contradict him, I didn't say you could come back." Aunt Petunia grimaced, but at Dumbledore's look she continued. "Apparently, when your mother died to save you, she left a protection of some kind — it was all in the letter I got with you, but I didn't read it that closely." (Even Ronnie could tell that this was a lie; the woman had clearly read the letter much more closely than she had wanted to admit.) "Something about blood and the strongest shields... anyway, he said that since we were Lily's only remaining blood relatives, as long as you were under my care, that Voldemort person and his followers wouldn't be able to touch you while you were under my roof."

Ronnie remembered that Mad-Eye Moody had mentioned the protections around Harry's Muggle home, but he hadn't mentioned what kind. That was  _one_ mystery solved!

"And he said they were likely to try and kill you, and you would be in great danger unless I took you in," said Aunt Petunia. "So what else could I do? Not that I ever got any thanks," she added, a little more sharply. "Eleven years, I had you, and you would probably have died if I hadn't taken you in, but were you the least bit grateful? Always in trouble, always talking back, always —"

Dumbledore cleared his throat again.

"The protection would have lasted until you were seventeen," Aunt Petunia hurried to say, looking at him nervously. "But when Vernon said you'd never be welcome in our house again, and you left, and I - and I didn't do anything to stop either of you, it seems the protection stopped working, because — because —"

"Because the  _magic,"_  said Dumbledore, stressing the word and making Aunt Petunia wince, "interpreted this as you no longer being under your Aunt's care, Harry. And such protections, once revoked, can't be repaired or replaced. Privet Drive is no longer the safehaven it has been for you the last eleven years."

Ronnie felt herself almost shrink in her seat. That was what Dumbledore had meant with his comment about the protections breaking.  _This was all her fault._  She'd put Harry in danger. If she hadn't gone to rescue him, if she at least hadn't kicked his Uncle in the groin —

But then she remembered the bars over the window, and the way the Dursleys had treated Harry, and the feeling of guilt diminished a little.  _Safehaven, hah!_

"You knew that throwing the child out would put him in danger from You-Know-Who, and you  _didn't stop it?!"_  Mum was looking at Aunt Petunia in disbelief.

"I'm not his parent!" Aunt Petunia snapped. "I didn't want him! Have you seen his eyes? Those are my sister's eyes! Every time he looks at me,  _she_ looks at me! Judging me! Mocking me! For eleven years! Of course I had to lock him away — I couldn't get rid of him, but I could stop him  _looking_ at me!" She had started to rant now, turning towards Dumbledore. "And  _you!_  Exposing family secrets like that, forcing me to come here to a freak house and tell a family of strangers and freaks —"

"True, that was tactless of me," said Dumbledore. "I should have handled the situation with more discretion, and for that, at least, you have my apologies. But I thought it was important that Harry hear it from you what had happened. That much, you owed him."

"And what about what he owed me?" Petunia protested. "I only wanted to be left alone with my husband and son! But you freaks wouldn't let me, would you? You keep dragging me in, and I can see it in your eyes - in  _his_ eyes! In  _Lily's_  eyes! So superior. so condescending!  _Petunia the ugly Muggle!_  'Muggle,' what a  _word!_  You think I haven't been treating the boy well enough?! Well, he didn't deserve any better! Using his freak powers to make life hard for all of us! It was self-defence, that's what it was!"

This was when Percy, who had been silent the entire time, raised himself. "Thank you very much for your visit, Mrs. Dursley," he said calmly. "I think now is the time for you to leave."

Mum's face had gone just as red as Ginny's, but she didn't speak.

"Actually, I believe young Mister Weasley is right," said Dumbledore, raising himself. "It doesn't look like the current conversation is going anywhere productive. I will take Petunia back to her family. I will also make certain to gather all of Harry's belongings. With the protection gone, and the home situation being how it is, there is no reason for him to return to Privet Drive. Molly, could I trouble you to look after him for a few days, until we can figure out what to do?"

"Of course, Dumbledore," said Mum, her face still red.

"I trust you won't object to this, Harry?" said Dumbledore.

Harry now looked as if not only Christmas but his next ten birthdays had come early.

Dumbledore nodded at him. "I will see you all later, then." he said cheerfully. "Do give Arthur my regards. Come, Petunia."

Petunia opened her mouth again, clearly about to launch into another tirade, but stopped at the look Dumbledore gave her.

"Petunia," he said, and now he was clearly getting impatient. "Whatever you were going to say, I beg you to instead to consider the excellent and highly appropriate alternative of  _staying silent."_

"Er," said Ronnie, raising herself as well. Now that everything else seemed to be sorted out, there was only one thing she had to ask about. "Professor Dumbledore? Dad won't get in trouble — I mean, you won't tell anyone about the flying car, will you?"

Dumbledore looked at her. "What flying car would that be?" he said innocently.

"Thank you, sir," said Ronnie, feeling the relief wash over her.

When Dumbledore and Aunt Petunia had left, Mum took a deep breath and looked at all her children, one after another, and then at Harry, and then at Percy again. "Percy, that was marvellous of you." she said. "If that  _woman_ had remained here in my kitchen for much longer, I would have lost my temper. _'Freak powers,'_ I ask you."

"Typical Percy, always the spoilsport," said Fred. "I would have liked seeing Mum blow up at someone else for a change."

"As for  _you two —"_  Mum turned to look at Ronnie and Ginny. "I ought to punish you for that stunt. Driving the car all the way to Surrey, and all on your own! I don't think you understand how incredibly lucky you were that it didn't end in tragedy! What were you thinking? Ronnie, you're only twelve —"

"I'll be thirteen in February," Ronnie muttered. "Besides, I was worried about Harry. Turned out I had good reason to be, didn't it?"

Mum looked at her sternly. "Don't try to make it sound like you're the only one who cares, Veronica Weasley," she said. "Only yesterday, your father and I decided that if you hadn't heard anything from Harry by Friday, we'd take the car and go check on him ourselves."

"You did?!" said Ronnie, surprised.

Mum nodded."However, after meeting that Mrs. Dursley in person... I don't think I have the heart to punish you for what you did."

"Too bad you didn't meet her husband, then," said Ronnie. "You would have rewarded us."

"Don't you cheek me, young lady!" But Mum wasn't really angry — you always  _knew_ when she was angry for real — and she was all smiles again when she turned to Harry. "Welcome to our home, Harry dear," she said. "Of course you're welcome to stay with us for as long as you need. Bill's old room is empty, so when Dumbledore brings your things, we can move them up there, how does that sound?"

"Brilliant," said Harry, who looked both overwhelmed and grateful. "Thank you!"

"No need to thank me, dear. Come on, time for a spot of breakfast, I think."

And soon, the delicious scent of fried eggs and sausages filled the room, as Mum bustled about and prepared the food, throwing sausages into the frying pan, turning and retrieving them, flipping eggs and cutting bread for toast, working so fast that it looked like she had six arms.

Harry, who apparently wasn't used to seeing someone work like that in a kitchen, offered to help, but she declined and told him to just sit down. "I can manage perfectly, Harry dear."

"Mum's the queen of the kitchen," said Fred with a laugh. "She doesn't want any commoners to disrupt her rule! Your Majesty," he continued with a bow, "would you grant your humble son a boon?"

"Quit it, you," said Mum, though Ronnie thought she could see a smile threatening to spread on her face. "What do you want, Fred?"

"Just wondering if we had any marmalade."

Breakfast was about half-over — Harry had only just accepted his second helping of eggs and sausage — when Dad came home.

"Dumbledore contacted me and explained what was going on," he said, sinking down on an available chair. "I decided to postpone the last raid. Might as well give Mundungus Fletcher a few hours' sleep before I go after him." He yawned and stretched. "I think eight raids are my limit anyway. Not as young as I used to be — these nightly assignments are starting to take their toll. Besides... it seems I should rather have been up in Surrey, shouldn't I?"

"Er, Dad," said Ronnie. "About the car..."

Dad ruffled her hair and gave her a tired smile. "Yes, yes, it was very wrong of you, girls, very wrong indeed, but right now we have more important matters to discuss, so could we just pretend I've been very cross with you, and you've promised me never to do anything so dangerous again?"

 

* * *

 

 

 

Long and serious talks followed. Both Mum and Dad were more than happy to let Harry stay, but there were other things that needed to be discussed — and to Ronnie's frustration, this time none of the discussions involved her.

Professor Dumbledore returned after a few hours, without any Dursleys but with Harry's belongings, including his school things (Ginny did seem to think that this had made her fetching of Harry's wand and Invisibility Cloak somewhat pointless, but Ronnie pointed out that it had been a brave act that bode well for her future as a Gryffindor). He spent at least an hour talking to both Mum, Dad and Harry, and at the end it was decided that Harry would stay with the Weasleys at least for the remainder of the Summer, and they'd see what could be arranged for him for next year.

It was unfortunate that the protections around the Dursleys' home had been broken, but there was nothing to be done about it. (And Harry confided to Ronnie later on that he was so happy about not having to return to the Dursleys that he couldn't find it in himself to really worry about the protection anyway.)

And so, without any more fuss, Harry moved in. He spent the first few days, it seemed to Ronnie, almost constantly smiling. Life at the Burrow had to be quite a contrast from his prisoner's life at Privet Drive.

Hedwig was happy too; finally allowed to one more fly about as she wanted, she was more than willing to take on some of Errol's deliveries so the old owl could have a bit of a rest (because Percy still refused to let anyone borrow Hermes). She flew with letters for Hemione and Neville and brought back long replies from both of them.

Ronnie was glad to find that her entire family had taken to Harry just as easily as she herself had. Despite the unusual circumstances, and despite Ginny still getting shy and clumsy around him, they treated him with the warmth and kindness they extended to any other family guest — though Mum did perhaps fuss a little extra over him, encouraging him to have second and even third helpings at all mealtimes.

After the first day, though, Dad was uncharacteristically solemn. He was pleased to have Harry around, but strangely enough he  _didn't_  bombard him with questions about Muggle life. To Ronnie's surprise, he didn't even ask Harry about what a rubber duck was supposed to be for. Despite clearly being tired, he continued to spend more time at work than before; he left home before anyone else had got up in the morning and didn't get back home before most of the family had gone to bed at night.

The explanation came after a couple of days, when the  _Daily Prophet_  arrived at the breakfast table, sporting the following headlines:

 

_BOY WHO LIVED BEATEN AND STARVED BY MUGGLE RELATIVES_

_Harry Potter, known as the Boy Who Lived, has been living under unacceptable conditions, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. When Potter was (at the recommendation of Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts and alleged friend of the Potter family) sent to live with Muggle relatives at the age of one, many prominent wizards and witches questioned the wisdom of such a move. Many expressed doubts as to whether any Muggle would be capable of properly raising the hero of the wizarding world. Recent evidence, however, seems to incline that even these doubters were too optimistic: Potter has just recently been removed from the alleged care of the Muggles after it was revealed that he for ten years has been beaten, starved, locked up and forced to work like a slave._

_Independent witnesses tell how the Muggles have treated Potter like a cross between a house-elf and a target for them to take their raw, primitive anger out on. Naturally, this treatment has left its mark on Potter, as his contemporaries have noticed after the boy's first year at Hogwarts._

_"He's hostile, quick to anger and always in trouble," says Potter's fellow student Draco Malfoy. "He has no idea how to behave among civilized people, but he's started a gang of troublemakers at Hogwarts, with at least one Muggle-born in it. They behave like animals, I'm sorry to tell you. They're even harassing the teachers so badly that one of the most beloved teachers was forced to resign."_

_Mr. Malfoy's father Lucius, chairman of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, expresses his concern: "This proves without a shadow of a doubt that Muggles are unfit to care for magical children. Potter should have been raised in a proper wizard family. I did in fact offer to take him in myself, maybe that would have in some way have made up for all the horrible things I was forced to do while under You-Know-Who's Imperius curse. But Headmaster Dumbledore seemed to think that the child would be better off with the Muggles. Of course I don't doubt that Dumbledore had the noblest of intentions, but it's plain to see that his inexplicable fondness for Muggles has seriously impaired his judgment."_

_Whether Potter's questionable behaviour will improve now that he is away from the dangerous influences of Muggles, remains to be seen, but he might be well advised to ask himself whether it is a coincidence that his rule-breaking gang at Hogwarts includes one Veronica Weasley, daughter of Arthur Weasley, a renowned campaigner for Muggle rights and the principal force behind the new proposed Muggle Protection Act._

_"I wouldn't at all be surprised if her Muggle-loving father has told her to keep on Potter's good side," says a concerned student at Hogwarts. "They're probably afraid of what might happen to that precious Muggle Protection Act if Potter begins speaking against Muggles."_

_Arthur Weasley has not been available for comment on whether he is indeed guilty of such heartless manipulations of children in order to promote his political views, but with these revelations the Ministry surely must put both him and his Muggle Protection Act under closer examination._

 

Everyone was silent as Dad read the article for them. Ronnie felt as though someone had punched her in the stomach.

"I suppose it was too much to hope for that they wouldn't print something like this," said Dad.

"Where did they  _get_ all that?" Harry finally said. "I wasn't beaten or starved! Well, not  _much_ anyway."

George, who was sitting closest to him, shook his head. "I just get fonder and fonder of those relatives of yours," he said.

Harry changed the subject, as he so often did whenever his life with the Muggles was discussed. "And we never harassed Snape, it was more the other way around! What's the point of writing all this?"

Dad sighed. "It's Rita Skeeter," he said. "I know her; the more people she can make look bad with her articles, the happier she is. Dumbledore had to inform the Ministry that you were no longer to live with your relatives, and no doubt Rita Skeeter has her informants at the Ministry." He placed the newspaper down on the table. "Bad news for the Muggle Protection Act, too. Look at how the article implies that all Muggles are monsters."

"The Malfoys helped there," said Ronnie. The feeling of having been punched was fading, but now she had to blink several times so she wouldn't start to cry with anger at the unfairness of it all. "What in the name of Merlin's pants possessed that Rita Skeeter woman to interview  _them?_  Look at this - how Malfoy's Dad is all high-and-mighty!  _'Horrible things I was forced to do under You-Know-Who's —"_   She cut herself off. _Don't think about the Imperius._  "Forced to do, my  _arse!"_

"Language, young lady!" Mum scolded automatically, thankfully not seeming to notice Ronnie's brief hesitation there.

"And this! Apparently Dad is  _forcing_ me to be friends with Harry!" She swallowed; an annoying lump was stuck in her throat. "Well, at least they didn't stoop so low as to suggest I was feeding him illegal love potions!"

"Don't give them any ideas," said Harry in a tired voice. "Bad enough that I'm living with you now. They don't seem to have picked that detail up, though..." He looked uncomfortable. "Look, I don't want to give you any trouble,  _any_ of you. If me living here leads to such rumours about the Weasleys, and problems with that Muggle Protection Act, maybe I should find somewhere else. I have money, I could —"

"Will you stop being so fucking noble?!" Ronnie snapped around the lump in her throat.

"Veronica Weasley, either you stop using that kind of language, or you leave the table," said Mum.

"Harry, you're twelve years old, you can't live on your own. What sort of people would we be if we threw you out just because of some silly rumours?" said Percy pompously.

"Percy's right," said Mum. "Besides, you're not a bother. We  _want_ you around! And there'll be rumours no matter what we do or say, so the best thing to do is just keep our heads high. We'll manage."

"As for the Muggle Protection Act," said Dad, "yes, a lot of people have told me they're withdrawing their support for it, but that's not your fault."

"And Bill's room has been so lonely since he went off to Africa," said George. "It'd be terribly upset if you just up and left it now."

"And we were going to teach you how to play Quidditch," said Fred. "With all we've heard about your great flying skills, we were hoping to get you on the Gryffindor team this year. Last year was  _awful —_  whoever told Cormac McLaggen he had talents as a Seeker was a big fat liar."

"Please stay," said Ginny, looking at Harry for a full second before adding  _"Squeak,"_  turning red and knocking over her (thankfully empty) glass.

Harry looked at all the Weasleys, one after another, with an astonished look on his face, as if he couldn't quite believe that they would all tell him to stay like this. Small wonder too, Ronnie thought, regretting her harsh tone. The Dursleys had never wanted Harry, which of course was why he'd developed his infuriating tendency to think he was a bother to everyone.

There was really only one thing to do. Trying once again to swallow the lump in her throat, she turned in her seat and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly. "We don't care what the  _Prophet_ says," she said softly (and  _almost_ truthfully). "We care about  _you_. Are you gonna believe that, or am I gonna have to smack you around a little first?"

Finally, Harry laughed, his body shaking a little against hers. "No, that's all right," he said. "I believe you."

Ronnie smiled and blinked away a tear that was threatening to fog up her vision. "About time."

 

* * *

 

**TO BE CONTINUED....**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't really a fix-fic; as you might see there are obstacles in this story that weren't in canon, or at least that didn't come into canon at this point. Now the famous blood protections are irrevocably broken, the Weasleys' name is being dragged through the mud, Muggle hate is likely to increase, and the Muggle Protection Act is a lot more likely to fail... we'll see how much of this will actually come into play, though. And on the plus side, Harry seems to have swapped one terrible family out for one kind and loving one.
> 
> My take on the Dursleys' abuse of Harry is thus: They weren't hugely abusive, largely because of their obsession with appearances. If their abuse of Harry was visible in any way (at least any way that couldn't be taken as "much-needed dicipline"), that would compromise their outward image as the successful, normal family they wish to be. So for the most part they neglect rather than directly abused him, keeping "punishments" and suchlike carefully hidden from the public eye. (Dudley is the exception, but he's a kid and would get away with more than his parents could.)
> 
> I never quite got all those fics where Dumbledore has a one-track mind and stubbornly insists on sending Harry back to the Dursleys even when better alternatives exist or they are clearly and visibly abusing him, all because of the "blood protection." Dumbledore's main concern at this point is to keep Harry alive, not to make sure that he's miserable (the theory that he kept Harry miserable because it would make him easier to manipulate doesn't hold up to closer thought at all). Since the protection is now gone, there is no reason for Harry to return to Privet Drive.
> 
> This doesn't necessarily mean we've seen the last of the Dursleys, though.


	3. Crookshanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're back with a chapter that I've been looking forward to for a long time...

Over the course of the next two weeks, the Burrow got more letters and callers than it had seen for decades, and all of them were for or about Harry.

Some of the letters were from friends; in addition to Hermione and Neville, who had both written to express their relief that Harry was all right; several other people they knew from Hogwarts had written as well — even Hagrid, the gamekeeper, had sent a letter, telling them in his untidy scrawl that he was glad Harry was with people he could trust instead of those "ruddy Muggles."

Most of the letters, however, were from strangers or just vague acquaintances, because it didn't take long at all before the general public managed to discover that Harry was now living with the Weasleys. Some people showed up in person to try to talk to Harry, but Mum sent them away with a "leave the boy alone!" That left the letters, and they ranged from sympathetic and concerned, to threatening and insulting. Quite a few letters demanded the names of the Muggles that had mistreated Harry, along with detailed lists of what the letter-writers were going to do to them.

"I don't think half the things on this list are physically possible, even with magic," said Fred as he scanned the letter of one particularly imaginative and vicious wizard. "Listen to this:  _When I find out who and where those Muggles are, I will shove their heads so far up their —"_

"We can read, thank you!" Percy snapped, grabbing a different letter. "Not that all these people make it easy. This is the most atrocious handwriting I've seen! It's enough to make me wish Hogwarts taught proper penmanship."

"You always know how to focus on what's important, don't you, Perce?" said George. "Hey, Ron, this one's for you."

"Read it, will you?" said Ronnie wearily. This was the second time in her life she'd had her name in the paper — the first time had been during the war, when some  _Prophet_  employee had been desperate for news not about You-Know-Who and found the birth of the first Weasley girl for centuries worthy of a small notice. That had been a source of pride, something fun to think back on; completely unlike this.

 _"Stay away from Harry Potter, you Muggle-loving tramp, he's_ _ **mine**_ _."_  George read. "It's not even signed. I think you're supposed to automatically know who you're meant to hand Harry over to."

"Ginny, did you write it?" said Fred. Ginny glared at him, and then got very busy stroking Scabbers, whom she had for once brought out of his cage and taken downstairs (not that this seemed to matter much to the rat, who spent almost all his time sleeping).

Harry, who was sitting next to Ronnie behind an extra-large pile of letters, looked miserable. While he had, thankfully, never offered to leave the Burrow after that first article in the  _Daily Prophet,_  it seemed to Ronnie like he felt that the torrent of letters was his fault. (Of course he would, he was Harry. If someone had managed to tell him that he personally was responsible for the existence of Dragon Pox, he'd believe it.)

He picked up one letter from the pile, the same one he had picked up and put down again at least three times now. It was from Rita Skeeter, the very same witch who had written the article in the first place. "Maybe I  _should_ agree to give her an interview," he said.

"What for?" said Ronnie, who to her annoyance knew she had turned pink again. "She's the reason why we're getting all this hate mail, I don't think she deserves an interview with you."

"But I could at least explain that she's misunderstood," said Harry hopefully.

"And have her write that we've brainwashed you into saying what we want? No thanks!"

"Hey, this one's from old Xenophilius Lovegood!" said George, looking at the new letter he'd picked up.

"He's our closest wizard neighbour," Fred added for Harry's benefit. "Completely batty."

"Let's see what he writes," said George. "Hmm...  _I want to let you all know that I don't believe any of the hostile rumours about Arthur or any of the Weasleys for one second. Your family, as well as the Muggle Protection Act, can count on my continued full support, both personally and professionally."_

"Always liked old Xeno," said Fred hurriedly. "A little eccentric, but a good chap."

"What does he mean, personally and professionally?" said Harry.

"Oh, er, he's the editor of a magazine called  _The Quibbler,"_  said Ronnie. "Mum won't allow it in the house. Says it's full of nonsense."

"I used to think that was her way of saying it was full of pictures of naked ladies, and that was why she didn't want us to read it," Fred smirked. "I was really disappointed when Lee Jordan managed to scrounge an issue. No naked ladies, just a lot of literal nonsense. Weird conspiracies and sightings of monsters nobody's ever heard of and hens laying the same egg three times in hurricanes and things like that."

"Of course, that's half the fun of it," said George. "Wouldn't mind reading some more. Think Mum'll lift the ban on the mag when she finds out that Xeno's supporting Dad?"

"No offence to Mr. Lovegood, but when it comes to support, I  _do_ think Dad could do better than him," Percy huffed.

"Your father and I are certainly grateful for any support we can get," said Mum, who just then was entering the kitchen, carrying everyone's coats. "But right now, we have more important things to think of than some silly letters. Today we're going to Diagon Alley, and we're going to forget all this nonsense for a while. Come on, get your coats on and save the rest of the letters for later."

"It's August, Mum," said Ginny. "It's still warm outside. Why do we need coats? We'll die of heat."

"Don't be silly, dear. Besides, you'll need the pockets. Put it on, now."

Ronnie silently agreed with Ginny about the coats, but she knew there was no arguing with Mum when it came to this, so she put hers on without protest. (It was getting a little small for her, she noticed, but didn't want to start asking for a new one — the school supplies they had to pick up would already cost more than they could really afford, especially since the Defence against the Dark Arts books were all by Gilderoy Lockhart this year, and Gilderoy Lockhart books were  _expensive_.)

As everyone gathered in front of the fireplace, with Dad finally joining them, Ginny took Scabbers up off the table.

"You're not taking Scabbers to Diagon Alley?" said Ronnie, a little surprised.

"Yes, I am," said Ginny, in her best  _'I've-decided-and-you-can't-change-my-mind'_  voice. "He never sees anything but our room, I thought he'd enjoy a change of scenery."

"Ginny, scenery doesn't really matter to a rat who never wakes up," said Ronnie.

Ginny looked at her. "D'you know what you are?" she said.

"A Muggle-loving tramp, according to some," said Ronnie dryly.

"You're  _jealous!_  Because Scabbers likes me better than you!" said Ginny. "You're so used to all animals in the world loving you that when one of them likes  _me_ better, you don't know what to do other than making comments like that!"

Fred and George, both in their coats by now, began laughing. "She's got you there, Ron!" said Fred, completely ignoring that he himself had made similar jokes about Scabbers in the past.

"Bollocks," said Ronnie — but Fred's hypocrisy aside, she did feel slightly guilty. In truth, she  _had_ always felt a little put off by Scabbers's complete lack of interest in her. Almost every other animal she met instantly adored her and wanted to be friends; sometimes it was even a little too much (especially when invisible Thestrals and three-headed dogs declared love at first sight), but on the rare occasions when she met an animal that  _didn't_ like her... it made her feel strange inside, as if she was failing or something. It was why she had declined when Percy had first wanted to give her Scabbers and passed him on to Ginny instead.

"Well, I'm taking Scabbers and showing him Diagon Alley," said Ginny, carefully sliding the rat down into her coat pocket.

"Now, come along, all! We've got a lot of school supplies to buy, and we're supposed to meet the Grangers as well!" said Dad, looking rather excited at this thought.

"Arthur,  _do_ try to keep your questions about Muggle life to a minimum when we meet them," said Mum. "And Fred, George — behave yourself!"

The twins gave her exaggeratedly hurt looks. "But Mum," said Fred. "How can you even suggest that we won't behave like perfect angels?"

Mum gave him a look, and then turned to Ronnie. "As for you, young lady, I don't want a repeat of last year, is that understood?"

Ronnie felt herself go pink. "I wasn't at the  _Magical Menagerie_  for  _that_ long," she murmured.

"You were in there for three hours! I had to drag you out of there in the end!"

Ronnie sighed. The  _Magical Menagerie,_ located at the North side of Diagon Alley, was in her opinion the best shop in the entire world. It was small and cramped and noisy, but had so many wonderful animals that she would gladly have spent days in there on end to get to know them all - and the witch who usually looked after the shop was a niece of the famous magizoologist Newt Scamander and knew all sorts of fascinating things about animals.

When Ronnie was younger she'd always gone there (never to buy, but only to meet the new animals) together with Charlie, who was a little better at keeping time, but last year was the first time she'd been there alone, hence the perfectly understandable miscalculation of time.

"Just one very short visit?" she pleaded, like a very young child begging for a sweet. "Harry has to get owl treats for Hedwig anyway, and I promised him I'd show him the shop."

In truth, she hadn't promised him anything of the kind — the  _Magical Menagerie_  was pretty easy to find and even easier to find your way around in — but Harry seemed to have picked up how much she wanted to go, and so he just nodded. "It's true, Mrs. Weasley, she did promise."

Mum looked at them both, and then gave in. "Oh, all right," she said. "But only a very short visit. If I have to come drag you out of there —"

"You won't, Mum!"

Mum double-checked that everyone was in their coats and then walked over to the fireplace to pick up the flowerpot where they kept the Floo powder. "We're running a bit low, Arthur," she sighed after having peered inside. "We'll have to buy more today... ah well, guests first. After you, Harry dear."

Harry looked at the flowerpot with a puzzled expression on his face, as if he had been asked to solve some particularly difficult puzzle, and Ronnie finally understood what the problem was: _He had no idea what was going on._

"It's Floo powder, Harry," she hurried to say. "It's how we usually get to Diagon Alley. Sorry, I didn't realise you wouldn't have travelled by Floo before."

"Er, no," said Harry. He'd lived with them for slightly more than two weeks now, and while (despite what the Daily Prophet and Draco Malfoy claimed) he had adjusted to wizard life quite well in the year he'd known about magic, there would be the occasional moment like this, when he encountered something completely ordinary and treated it as new and unfamiliar. "I sort of thought we were taking the car," he admitted.

"Oh, Floo powder's much quicker, dear," said Mum, who with the possible exception of Percy was the family member who liked Dad's car the least. "But goodness me, if you've never used it before —"

"He'll be fine, Mum," said Fred. "Harry, watch us first!" Never one to resist making a performance, he took a pinch of the Floo powder and walked with rather theatrical strides up to the fireplace, throwing the powder into the fire. As it turned green and rose high, he stepped into it and shouted:  _"Diagon Alley!"_ And then he was gone.

"Nothing to it, Harry," said George. "Now watch me!"

But he didn't get the undivided attention that Fred had as he too helped himself to Floo powder, because now everyone else (even Ginny and Percy) was gathering around Harry with helpful advice.

"You must speak clearly, dear, and sure to get out at the right grate... there are an awful lot of wizard fires to choose from, you know, but as long as you've spoken clearly -"

"And keep your elbows tucked in."

"And your eyes shut. The soot —"

"Don't fidget, or you might well fall out of the wrong fireplace —"

"But don't panic and get out too early; wait until you see Fred and George."

"If you get nervous, Ginny can hold your hand."

"Shut up, George!"

Harry looked rather overwhelmed at all this, but as soon as George had stepped into the fire and vanished, he took a pinch of Floo powder and stepped up to the fireplace with the definite expression of someone who is trying to hide his nervousness.

He managed the throwing part nicely, and barely hesitated at all to step into the green fire - in fact, he was doing marvellously right up to the part where he was to speak the name of his destination. That was when he managed to inhale a bit of hot ash and was struck by a coughing fit. He just had time to croak out something that sounded like  _"D-Dia-gon-all-ly,"_  before vanishing.

The kitchen fell silent. Mum and Dad looked at one another.

"Did he say _'Diagon Alley,'_  or  _'Diagonally?'"_  said Mum.

"It sounded like  _'Diagonally,'"_ aid Percy.

"That's what I thought," said Mum. "Oh dear, what if he misses the grate? He could end up anywhere!"

Ronnie grabbed a pinch of Floo powder and threw it into the fire. "I'll follow him!" she stated, jumping into the green flames.  _"Diagonally!"_

"Veronica Weasley, you come back here right this —" Mum's voice drowned in the loud roar of the fire as Ronnie spun down the darkened passway that was the Floo network, the green flames whipping around her and the blurred stream of fireplaces whooshing past. As always, the Floo ride was a fast, loud, dizzying experience, and Ronnie just barely had the time to reflect that maybe she shouldn't have jumped in like this without being absolutely certain that she'd end up in the same place as Harry —

— and then she came to a halt, stumbling out of a fireplace and landing flat on her stomach.

A cacophony of noises exploded around her, noises so diverse and so familiar that even before she lifted her head, she knew exactly where she had ended up. A quick look up confirmed it: Around the tiny fireplace she'd just tumbled out of, cages of all shapes and sizes were covering every inch of wall, and inside almost every cage one or more animals were watching her and making an excited racket. Owls were hooting, cats meowing, toads chirping and croaking, ravens cawing, snakes hissing, mice and rats squeaking, and a Jarvey that peered out from a cage near the floor was crying:  _"Have a nice trip, Beanpole?!"_

She'd ended up at the  _Magical Menagerie_. But, she noted as she sat up, there was no sign of Harry.

"What's going on here — why, that's never little Ronnie Weasley, is it?" The voice belonged to Miss Scamander, the witch from the counter, who had heard the commotion and came running to help Ronnie back onto her feet. "I've been wondering when you'd show up to visit the animals! Charlie still in Romania, is he?"

"Yes — thanks," Ronnie managed to say as she was back on her feet.

"You know, the Floo isn't really for customers. Next time you want to pay a visit, use the door. That's why we have it." Miss Scamander grinned and let go of Ronnie's hand.

"I didn't mean to — Look, you haven't seen —  _Oy!"_  Ronnie cut herself off with a startled yelp as something big, orange and soft came leaping down from one of the cages on the top shelf and landed on her head.

Before she really knew what had happened, she found herself with an armful of cat. It was a large, ginger tomcat with thick, fluffy fur, a bottle-brush tail, and a flat face that gave him a strange grumpy appearance, as if he had once ran headfirst into a wall and never stopped being annoyed over the incident.

"Oh, not  _again,"_  Miss Scamander sighed. "Crookshanks, why can't you ever stay in your cage?"

"Jailbreak!" the Jarvey called from its cage. "Shoot the bastard!" (Jarveys were capable of speech, but mainly spoke in crude insults, so having a meaningful conversation with one was completely out of the question.)

The cat, whose name was apparently Crookshanks, turned his head to look at Miss Scamander, and Ronnie got the distinct impression that he found her amusing.

"I don't know how he does it," said Miss Scamander with a shake of her head. "It seems like no cage can hold him if he doesn't want it to, no matter how many charms we put on it. Oh well, since he's already set on introducing himself: Crookshanks, this is Ronnie. Ronnie, this is Crookshanks."

"Wow," said Ronnie. She could tell that the cat wasn't very old, but he was already bigger than most normal cats she'd met. "Hello, Crookshanks." She began stroking him, and he immediately began purring up a storm and rubbing his head against her.

"Well, that's love at first sight," said Miss Scamander.

"Perverts!" the Jarvey shouted happily.

"The poor dear's been here for a fortnight," said Miss Scamander, ignoring it, "and hasn't taken to anyone like that before. He's not very attractive either, so nobody has wanted him. You wouldn't be interested —" she said hopefully.

"Can't afford him," Ronnie sighed. She could feel herself starting to fall for the strange, grumpy-looking cat, but her family was already strapped for money; she'd never be allowed to buy a new pet now. "Miss Scamander, you haven't seen Harry Potter around here, have you?"

"Harry Potter?" Miss Scamander shook her head again. "I'm absolutely certain I would have noticed it if  _he'd_ came tumbling out of the fire. Have you lost him? I read about you in the  _Daily Prophet_  — oh, relax, girl, I didn't believe that rubbish!"

"You're in the minority, then," said Ronnie, scratching Crookshanks behind the ears. "I'd love to stay for a visit, but I have to find Harry."

"You couldn't find your arse with both hands!" the Jarvey commented.

"Shut up, you, or you get another Silencing charm!" said Miss Scamander. "As for  _that_ one, she was anonymously donated to the shop a few months ago, and has been insulting customers ever since."

"Customers stink!" said the Jarvey. Several of the other animals turned their heads to look at it from their cages, and Ronnie had the distinct feeling that they were glaring at it.

Miss Scamander placed a hand on her forehead and took a very deep breath. Then, she turned back to Ronnie and said calmly: "Well, if Harry Potter was off with the Floo, he's bound to be nearby. Likely he just stepped out of the wrong grate, like you did."

"Hope you're right." Ronnie handed the reluctant Crookshanks over to Miss Scamander. "I'll see you later, I hope — was planning on taking Harry here to buy treats for his owl."

"Good luck, then," said Miss Scamander, taking Crookshanks and holding him firmly when he tried to jump out of her arms.

"Thanks. Bye, Crookshanks!" Ronnie tore her eyes away from the cat and hurried out the door.

"Glad to see the back of you, freckle-face!" she heard the Jarvey say before closing the door behind her and stepping out on the street.

Diagon Alley was especially crowded today, she realised with a sinking heart. Witches and wizards of all ages and sizes were scurrying about, exiting and entering the many shops that cluttered the street. Even at the best of times, the twisting and turning Diagon Alley could be difficult to get a proper overview of, but right now when it seemed like everyone had decided to do their Hogwarts shopping at the same time, how would she ever find Harry?

As she stepped out into the crowded street, trying to figure out where to go and how to see Harry, she heard a commotion from behind her.

Ronnie turned around to see Crookshanks, running up towards her at great speed, while Miss Scamander stood in the door, desperately trying to call him back. She had out her wand, and had apparently been trying to use magic to stop the cat's escape (probably a harmless Stupefying Charm), but not been fast enough.

"You couldn't hit the broad side of a barn!" came the Jarvey's voice from inside, over the new cacophony of animal sounds that had broken out.

Miss Scamander lifted her wand again, and then seemed to draw the same conclusion that Ronnie had: In this crowd it would be impossible for her to hit Crookshanks with any sort of spell, and  _not_ hit one or more innocent bystanders.

 _"Crookshanks!"_  she called, but to no avail; the only thing that happened was that a number of witches and wizards turned towards her to see what was going on, and Crookshanks moved into the crowd.

It took Ronnie about half a second to make up her mind. "I'll get him, Miss Scamander!" she yelled, and ducked into the crowd to follow the cat.

It was harder for her than it was for him; he was small enough to slink around people's legs (and somehow always avoided being stepped on), while she kept bumping into people and had to apologise again and again, wishing that she knew how to do a Summoning charm — no, wait, that didn't work on living creatures, did it?

Strangely enough, while Crookshanks could easily have sped up enough to completely slip away from her, but he stayed within sight — just out of reach. Even when a helpful wizard tried catching him, he deftly avoided the hands but stopped to turn back and look at Ronnie.

"All right, all right, I get it," Ronnie finally said as they made their way to a less crowded side-street, leaving the befuddled helpful wizard behind. "You want me to follow you!"

Crookshanks flicked his bottle-brush tail and then bolted down past an apothecary and down the alleyway, which wasn't crowded at all. In fact, it seemed to be almost empty, the few witches and wizards there looking definitely, well, dodgy. Not to say  _creepy_. Which certainly fit the surroundings; this side-street seemed to be filled with shops dedicated, in one way or another, to the Dark Arts. All the shop windows had cheerful little displays of shrunken heads, poisoned candles, huge black spiders and ancient artifacts that looked like they'd been made solely for the purpose of looking evil and nasty.

He stopped in the middle of the street, and once again turned to look back at Ronnie, as if to say:  _Aren't you coming?_

Ronnie suppressed a groan. This cat was  _bonkers_ \- he was running straight into Knockturn Alley, the most infamous street in the British wizarding world, and  _expecting her to follow._  Rumour had it that at least one beastly murder took place here every week, and even if that wasn't true the shops were bursting with so many cursed items and dangerous magics that it was said nobody could be certain to leave Knockturn Alley in the same shape that they'd entered it.

Mum had expressively forbidden Ronnie to ever set foot in that street.

Then again... she'd met You-Know-Who. She'd been Imperiused (no, don't think about the Imperius!) and she'd survived. What could Knockturn Alley hold that was worse? Besides, was she a Gryffindor or wasn't she?

"Crookshanks!" she said, marching up into Knockturn Alley, trying to look like she wasn't afraid at all (and wishing she'd had Harry's Invisibility Cloak). "You come here right now - stop that!" she added, because now Crookshanks was moving again, running down the twisting, turning alleyway until he stopped by the largest, gloomiest-looking shop of them all.

Ronnie followed as best as she could, but had to stop on the way as, all of a sudden a shabby-looking wizard stepped out of the shadows and stood in front of her. He wasn't that much taller than her, but she still took an involuntary step backwards; his hair was matted and greasy, his face unshaven, and as his lips split in a creepy grin, he bared a set of distinctly yellow teeth.

"Hello there," he said in a raspy voice. "What's a sweet little girl like you doing in a place like this?"

"Looking for someone to kick in the balls!" said Ronnie, straightening herself and putting on her fiercest expression. "Volunteering, are you?"

He frowned, his grin turning into a sneer. "Fiery head and fiery temper," he snarled. "You should show some respect for your elders —  _ow!"_

The sudden "ow" came from the fact that Crookshanks, having doubled back from the shop, had pounced on his leg and sank his claws into the man's ankle. He swore and kicked out, but Crookshanks jumped aside, his bottle-brush tail fluffing out so much it seemed three times thicker. He arched his back and hissed at the man warningly, trying to get between him and Ronnie.

"Fucking cat!" He suddenly had a wand in his hand, pointing it at Crookshanks.

"Leave him alone!" Ronnie acted on pure instinct; she lunged at the man and kicked. He clearly hadn't been expecting this, and so — just like Uncle Vernon a few weeks ago — his eyes bulged as her foot made painful contact with his groin. He dropped his wand and sank to his knees, clearly trying to breathe.

A shrieking, cackling laughter sounded from the other side of the street. An aged witch, holding a tray with contents Ronnie didn't particularly care to speculate about, was watching the scene and loudly expressing her glee at the sight. "Good show, dearie! Good show!" she cackled.

Ronnie decided to ignore her and instead scooped Crookshanks up in her arms. "All right," she told him. "I appreciate that you wanted to protect me, but I wouldn't have needed it if you hadn't taken me here in the first place! Now, let's get out of here!"

Crookshanks bapped her on the nose with a soft paw. Then he looked pointedly at the shop they were standing outside.

The dirty sign above the window helpfully (or perhaps warningly) informed that this was  _Borgin and Burkes,_  and through the window Ronnie could see that it was full of creepy-looking things; a blood-stained pack of cards, a staring glass eye, evil-looking masks on the walls, rusty iron instruments with sharp spikes hanging from the ceiling, and what looked suspiciously like a pile of human bones on the counter, behind which a stooping, oily-looking wizard was bowing and scraping for a tall man with blonde hair, who was just turning to walk out, and —

Ronnie blinked. The boy next to the man, with the same pale complexion and blonde hair, happened to be someone she knew and loathed.

She looked about to see if there were any places to hide, but it was too late; the boy had spotted her, and the next moment the door opened and he exited the shop to step up towards her.

"Weasley," he said, in a voice that revealed that he loathed her just as much as she loathed him.

"Malfoy," Ronnie answered through gritted teeth.

"What are  _you_ doing, skulking around here?" said Draco Malfoy. His eyes fell on Crookshanks. "And who's this, your sister? I can see why everyone says she's the looker of the family. She's much less hairy than you, that's for certain."

Crookshanks glared at him and made a growling sound deep in his throat.

"Got ten times the brains of you, too!" Ronnie snapped. It wasn't much of a comeback, but she really wasn't in the mood to deal with Malfoy on top of everything else. "Sod off, Malfoy!"

"Ah, the traditional Weasley lack of manners," came the silky voice of the blonde-haired man, who had stepped out behind Malfoy. Ronnie had never met this man before, but knew at once who he was; this was Draco Malfoy's father, Lucius Malfoy.

He looked pretty much like she'd imagined him; a larger, older version of his son with the fanciest robes Ronnie had ever seen and a seemingly-permanent expression on his face that hinted that as far as he was concerned, the entire world was inferior to him.

"So," he said, looking coolly at Ronnie. "You're Arthur Weasley's daughter. Draco has told me so much about you." His tone of voice left no room for doubt that none of the things he'd been told had been good. "Your parents allow you to run around Knockturn Alley? I wish I could say I was shocked, but knowing your irresponsible father —"

"She's a fucking loony!" the shabby wizard groaned as he unsteadily got back to his feet. "She kicked me right in the nads!"

"Doesn't surprise me in the slightest," said Mr. Malfoy, with no apparent sympathy. "Certain families have no idea how to teach their children how to behave. I do feel for poor Harry Potter, staying with such a poor excuse for a wizard family."

"At least  _we_ aren't Death Eaters who bribed our way out of Azkaban!" Ronnie snarled.

Draco Malfoy turned red with anger. "I ought to hex you for that, Weasley!"

"Draco!" his father snapped at him, before looking at Ronnie with a contempt much colder and more dispassionate than his son's; the expression was that of a man who's just seen a particularly annoying insect he longs to crush between his fingers. "There's no point in getting your hands dirty. People such as her always meet the end they deserve."

Crookshanks growled at him, angrily swishing his tail back and forth.

And then, all of a sudden, a gruff voice called out from the other end of the street.  _"Oi! What's goin' on here?"_

Ronnie turned, and her heart leapt with joy as she saw who had spoken. He towered over everyone, and with his wild black hair and beard, and moleskin overcoat, he looked at least twice as dangerous as any other patron of Knockturn Alley — but Ronnie immediately felt safe knowing that he was here.

"Hagrid!" she called, wanting to wave at him but being hindered by an armful of Crookshanks. The Malfoys looked surprised, and the shabby wizard made a slight squeaky noise and ran off before Hagrid came up to them.

Because now the huge man was heading towards them, with long strides. "Ronnie!" he said. "What're yeh doin' here? Dangerous place ter be wanderin' about, this!" He looked at the Malfoys, and then back at Ronnie. "Have these two  _done_ anythin' ter yeh?"

For the first time, Mr. Malfoy lost his cool. "Do I look like I touch filth?!" he spat furiously. "Come, Draco! Let's not waste our time here anymore!" And with that, he grabbed Draco's arm and dragged him off.

No sooner had he left before the door to  _Borgin and Burkes_  opened again, and out stepped — Harry. He looked sooty and dishevelled, and the bridge on his glasses had broken so he had to hold them together with his hands, but otherwise he seemed unhurt, and he brightened when he saw Hagrid and Ronnie.

"Hagrid! Ronnie! Am I glad to see you!" Relief was apparent in his voice. "I got lost in the Floo — where are we?"

"Nowhere yeh should be skulkin' about, either o' yeh," said Hagrid. "C'mon, I'll take yeh back ter Diagon Alley."

"Yes, please," said Harry, and then blinked, adjusted his glasses and looked at Crookshanks. "Whose cat is that?" he said curiously.

Crookshanks looked back at him, half-closed his eyes and began purring loudly. It was almost as if he was proud of himself. And a thought entered Ronnie's head: Had he guided her to  _Borgin and Burkes_  on purpose because he wanted to help her find Harry? But no, that was silly — how could Crookshanks have known where Harry was, or that she was looking for Harry in the first place? Animals often had surprising abilities, but still...

She didn't have time to think about it, because now Hagrid appeared to think they'd stayed in Knockturn Alley for long enough, and he gently but firmly steered them both back down the twisting alleyway towards the safety of Diagon Alley.

As they walked, Harry told the story of how he'd ended up inside  _Borgin and Burkes:_

Like Miss Scamander had surmised, he'd fallen out of the wrong grate and found himself in a very unpleasant place, which had turned out to be Borgin and Burkes. Since the owner had been in the back room and hadn't noticed the arrival, he'd planned on sneaking out and go look for Diagon Alley and the Weasleys, but just then Malfoy and his father had shown up. Not wanting to confront Malfoy in his current state, he'd hidden in a conveniently-placed cabinet and stayed there while the Malfoys talked to Mr. Borgin, the shopkeeper.

"Looked like a nasty place," said Ronnie. "What were they buying? A pet Lethifold, or a self-chopping guillotine?"

"They weren't buying at all, they were selling," said Harry. "They mentioned your father a few times, actually. Mr. Malfoy said that now that Arthur Weasley was losing that Muggle Protection Act, he'd probably strike down harder in other areas, and that he didn't want to risk certain things being discovered in his home. I think he said something about poisons."

"Those Malfoys," Hagrid growled. "Rotten ter the core. An' all those things they said abou' yeh in the  _Daily Prophet!"_

"Dad'll be interested to hear about those poisons, at least, I bet he'd love to get Lucius Malfoy for something," said Ronnie, and couldn't help feeling a certain glee at the thought that her Dad might get the Malfoys into  _real_ trouble.

By now they'd reached the far sunnier and more crowded Diagon Alley, right by the apothecary that Crookshanks had ducked behind, and Hagrid declared that Harry looked "a righ' mess" and brushed the worst soot of him so forcefully that he nearly fell over. Ronnie quickly took a step back, hoping that Hagrid wouldn't decide she looked too sooty too.

"I'd better get Crookshanks back to the  _Magical Menagerie,"_ she said, somewhat reluctantly. She was really starting to like this odd cat, who was purring contentedly in her arms, but she knew he wasn't hers. "And then we'd better find the family. Mum's probably beside herself with worry now."

Harry, who had caught his breath again after Hagrid's brushing, looked at Crookshanks again through his broken glasses. "That's the strangest cat I've seen. Is he magical?" he asked curiously.

Ronnie looked at him. "Dunno," she admitted. "The  _Magical Menagerie_  has all sorts of animals, magical ones too, but —"

"Lemme see that." Hagrid bent down to take a better look at Crookshanks. "Don' usually like cats much, they make me sneeze summat awful, but..." He broke into a wide grin behind his bushy beard. "But this 'un's no normal cat! See the large ears, the speckles in 'is fur? Half-Kneazle, if I'm any judge!"

"Oh!" Ronnie gasped. Suddenly a lot of things made sense. "Then maybe he  _did_ know where you were, Harry!"

Not for the first time that day, Harry looked like he had no clue about anything that was said. "Er," he said. "What's a half-Kneazle?"

"Part cat, part Kneazle, of course!" said Ronnie.

"Right. And you might be able to guess my next question, then..."

"A Kneazle's a magic animal, Harry," said Hagrid. "Like a cat, 'cept different. Ruddy smart beasts, understand anythin' yeh say, can find their way anywhere. Reckon a Kneazle's even better at findin' lost people than a dog is. Never get lost either, can always find their way home."

"Most animals can always find their way home," said Ronnie. "Even normal cats."

"Yeah, well, true," said Hagrid. "Kneazles are extra good at it, though. Smart buggers, like I said. Always seem ter know it if someone can be trusted or not, too."

"He certainly didn't like the Malfoys, or that creepy bloke," said Ronnie.

"There yeh are, then! An' they can breed with cats, so there's lotsa half-Kneazles about! Cheaper than pure-bred Kneazles, but almost as smart, an' much easier ter pass off as normal cats, if yeh happen ter live close ter Muggles!"

"So you heard me telling Miss Scamander that I was looking for Harry, and wanted to help, did you?" Ronnie stroked Crookshanks. "You're sweet! Oh, I wish I didn't have to take you back to the shop."

Crookshanks took a firm grip on her coat with his claws and didn't look like he wanted to let go to soon.  _Bugger the shop, I'm staying with you,_ he seemed to be saying.

"But I can't afford you, Crookshanks!" Ronnie felt a lump in her throat, and was surprised at herself. She always had animals follow her and falling for her, and usually ended up having to leave them behind. She was used to it; why would she start crying for this particular animal?

"I can," Harry suddenly said. "I think I probably have enough money  _on_ me. Not like there was a lot to spend it on at the Dursleys'."

Ronnie's heart skipped a beat. "Could you — lend me the money?" she asked, hesitant but hopeful. She hated asking for loans (the Weasleys had their pride, after all!), but right here and right now... she could make an exception.

Harry grinned."I can do you one better," he said. "I didn't get you anything last Christmas, remember?"

"Other than saving me from You-Know-Who?"

"You saved me from the Dursleys, so we're even there. Come on."

 

* * *

 

 

 

Ten minutes later, Ronnie and Harry stepped out of the Magical Menagerie, Ronnie carrying a delighted Crookshanks.

Miss Scamander had been very happy when they had returned with Crookshanks and even happier when Ronnie had asked how much he cost. She'd sold him for a price that Ronnie suspected was far below what he was really worth; either because she was happy to be rid of him, or because she was happy that Ronnie was the one who got him, or possibly both. The Galleons Harry'd had in his pockets (he went around with  _several Galleons_  in his  _pocket!)_  had been enough not only for Crookshanks but also for a large bag of the owl treats he'd promised Hedwig.

Hagrid was waiting for them outside — and so, to their pleasant surprise, were the rest of the Weasleys, who all brightened up at the sight of them.

"Look who I found!" said Hagrid.

That was all anyone had the time to say before Mum wrapped her arms around Ronnie in a hug that squeezed poor Crookshanks a little more than he really appreciated, and said in a voice almost exactly between anger and relief: "You never, ever do anything like that again, Veronica Weasley!"

"Mum — you're squeezing Crookshanks!" Ronnie tried.

"Crookshanks?" Mum let go and stared at the cat as if she hadn't properly noticed him for the first time. "Great heavens, child! Are you saying you're planning on keeping that — that —" She was apparently searching for words.

"Half-Kneazle," said Ronnie. and then hurried to add: "He helped me find Harry, and he won't be any trouble, I'll take him with me to Hogwarts! And I don't have any other pets right now, and you know I'll take good care of him..."

Ronnie knew that Mum deep down was proud of her daughter's way with animals, even if she had often complained about the various creatures Ronnie had been trekking home to the Burrow. And Crookshanks, who was clearly living up to his reputation as a smart bugger, had almost immediately decided that this lady was someone it paid to be friends with. And so he purred and rubbed his head against Mum's arm, looking as cute as he could manage.

Mum relented. "Oh — well, I suppose," she said. "But I want you to be on your best behaviour this year, is that clear? And if I ever see you near Knockturn Alley again —"

"George," said Fred dramatically. "The time has come for us to face reality. We are no longer the problem children of the family. Look what our dear little sister's getting up to these days; stealing cars, hobnobbing with Dark wizards in Knockturn Alley. How could we possibly top that?"

"We can't," George sighed. "We'd better start studying and become respectable like Percy. Didn't I hear some rumour going about that we were taking our OWLs next year? Maybe we should actually try doing well on them."

"Let's not get carried away!" said Fred. "Come to think of it, being in second place isn't too bad! If Ron becomes the black sheep of the family, anything we do will seem that much less horrible."

"True, true. Maybe we can even blow up that toilet this year and not get any Howlers from Mum about it."

"If you think you're being funny —" Percy began.

"We  _know_ we're being funny, Perce," said Fred. "It's not our fault you're so slow to catch on."

Percy huffed, but nobody paid too much attention to him, because everyone was checking that Harry was all right, and saying hello to Crookshanks. If Ronnie had ever doubted that her family were on the whole good people, she got ample proof of it now, because Crookshanks amiably accepted pettings and scratching from them all. He even licked Dad's hand at that point, though this  _might_ be because there had been bacon for breakfast.

"Well," said Hagrid. "Now that yeh're back with the family, I'd best be off. Got a bit more shoppin' ter do."

"Thank you for taking care of them, Hagrid!" said Mum.

"Always happy ter help, yeh know that. Say hello ter Charlie, if yeh talk ter him! So long, Harry — Ronnie!"

Harry waved to Hagrid as he made his way down the street, while Ronnie presented Crookshanks to Ginny, the only one who hadn't properly greeted him yet.

Ginny had always liked cats, and was delighted to pet Crookshanks's fluffy fur - but after Crookshanks had closed his eyes and rubbed his head against her hand for a bit, he stopped, sniffed out in the air and turned his head to stare downwards towards Ginny's coat pocket. A low, growling sound rose in his throat.

"What's wrong?!" said Ronnie, surprised. Did the cat suddenly decide that he didn't like Ginny?

"Uh-oh." Ginny took a step back. "He's looking at the pocket Scabbers is in."

"Oh. Smelling a rat, are you?" Ronnie breathed a sigh of relief. It would be awful if Crookshanks had taken a dislike to her little sister, but if it was Scabbers he sensed, that was all right... and then she suddenly felt guilty. She hadn't remembered Scabbers at all when falling for Crookshanks, and hadn't thought about how he'd probably be sleeping in her room where Scabbers's cage was. But a cat and a rat in the same room, that was just asking for trouble, no matter how smart the cat was.

"Keep him away from Scabbers!" said Ginny, taking a few more steps back. Crookshanks followed her with his eyes, tensing in Ronnie's arms.

"Crookshanks, no snacking on Ginny's rat!" said Ronnie firmly.

The cat turned his head and gave her a look that could mean anything. His tail was flicking agitatedly against her hip.

"I think I'll just stay a bit away from you and that cat while we're here," said Ginny, ducking behind Percy.

"Well," said Dad with forced cheerfulness. "Now that we're all back together, we'd better pay Gringotts a visit, and then we have some school supplies to buy! Besides," he added with a bit more genuine cheer, "the Grangers will be waiting for us!"

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit it, Crookshanks is my favourite animal character from the series (though Fawkes is a clear second), and I've really been looking forward to introducing him. I'll admit to taking a slight inspiration from Harry Potter and the Nightmares of Futures Past, where Crookshanks becomes Ron's pet... it's just such a surprisingly good fit that I couldn't resist letting Ronnie have him in this story. Scabbers is in trouble now...
> 
> For those of you not getting Ronnie's "pet Lethifold" comment; a Lethifold is an African creature and a sort of cousin to the Dementor - but where Dementors feed on happy emotions and souls, Lethifolds seek out sleeping people to suffocate them and digest them whole.
> 
> The Jarvey's in this chapter because I've basically always wanted to include a Jarvey in an HP story, and here was my chance.


	4. Books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I said there would be more swearing in this story? Yeah, this chapter's a good example of that, largely because Ronnie gets silly.

After Harry and Ronnie had been cleaned up a bit (Harry needing it more than Ronnie), and Dad had fixed Harry's broken glasses with a tap of his wand, they all set off for Gringotts.

The white marble building was just as impressive as always. Ronnie had always wanted to explore it properly, but the goblins weren't very accepting of wizards even at the best of times and Bill's rather colourful descriptions of what they might do to "snooping little girls" had pretty much halted any plans to try and sneak off to get any better looks.

She knew, of course, that the goblins weren't likely to attack customers who weren't doing anything wrong, because that would be bad for business, and goblins were nothing if not keen businesspeople. But she still couldn't help feeling just slightly uneasy as they had to pass the goblin guard in the scarlet-and-gold uniform to go through the impressive bronze-and-silver doors and into the great marble hall.

She forgot the goblins almost immediately, though, because there by the counter that ran all along the great marble hall, in between a number of other wizards and witches, was Hermione. She was wearing a Muggle-style jumper and a pair of trousers (which looked a little odd to Ronnie, who was used to seeing her in the Hogwarts school robes) and was standing together with a man and a woman who had to be her parents.

Hermione beamed when she saw them. "Harry! Ronnie! Over here!" she called, waving them over. "It's so good to see you again! Mum, Dad," she added to her parents, "this is Ronnie and her family — and that's Harry! Oh, Ronnie, I didn't know you had a cat!" she added as she saw Crookshanks.

Ronnie had hoped the first Hermione/Crookshanks meeting would go well; after all, she was going to share a dorm room with Hermione for several months at a time, and if cat and girl didn't get along, this might be a more eventful year that she'd liked — but she needn't have worried. One look at the large cat was enough for Hermione to fall just as hard for him as Ronnie had. "Oh, he's gorgeous!" she cooed, immediately beginning to stroke him. Crookshanks half-closed his eyes at her, which is the cat version of a smile, and shifted so that the two girls could properly hug each other hello.

Harry smiled a little awkwardly, but Hermione didn't try to hug him — apparently she felt there were limits to how close she should get to a boy when her parents were watching. Instead, she just smiled at him and said: "I'm so happy you get to stay with the Weasleys now! I got so worried when you never answered my letters!"

"Well, I'm fine now," said Harry, and immediately changed the subject: "Too bad Neville isn't here too, it'd be a Potter's Gang reunion."

"Apparently his Gran still won't let him out of the house because of that cold he had," said Hermione. "I don't think those Muggle remedies I mailed him about did much good."

"He did say in the letter he sent to Ronnie's that he had something to tell me," said Harry, "but since his previous letters had all got lost, he preferred to say it in person."

"Curious, are you?" said Ronnie.

"Well, of course! Aren't you?"

"Never mind," said Hermione. "I'm sure we'll see him on the Hogwarts express in a couple of weeks, and then we'll have several hours to talk."

In the meantime, Dad approached Hermione's parents his most brilliant smile, and held out his hand to shake. "Arthur Weasley!" he introduced himself, and then gushed: "Such a pleasure to meet you! I never get a chance to meet any Muggles — well, not ones I'm allowed to chat much with anyway. Sometimes you just want to hang the entire Statute of Secrecy! What's that you've got there? Oh, you're exchanging Muggle money! Molly, look!"

Hermione's parents seemed a little overwhelmed, but there was a sense of relief as well as they both shook his hand and tried to smile.

"Nice to meet you too — all of you," said Mrs. Granger. "I'm so glad Hermione has made friends. She's always been so shy, the poor dear, never really managed to connect with children her own age..."

 _"Mum...!"_  Hermione said in a pained voice.

"Shy?" Ronnie blurted out. "This is Hermione we're talking about, isn't it? I thought she didn't even know the meaning of the word 'shy'! Not that she doesn't know the meaning of every other word in the English language..."

 _"Ronnie!"_  Hermione hissed.

Harry laughed. So, surprisingly, did Mr. Granger. "I was just thinking how much Hermione had changed since she found out she was a witch," he said, "but it seems that some things stay the same."

 _"Dad!"_  said Hermione.

"Are you going to keep yelling out everyone's names like that, Hermione?" said Fred. "And are you going to do George and me separately, or both at the same time?"

 _"Fred!"_ Mum snapped - and then had to laugh along with everyone else.

"We must have a drink," said Dad eagerly to the Grangers. "I've so been looking forward to this meeting! If you could wait here until we've made our withdrawals —?"

In the end, Ronnie offered to stay behind with Hermione and her parents while everyone else went down to the vaults, partly because it would be nice to spend some more time with Hermione and partly because if Ginny was down in the vaults with Scabbers, Crookshanks wouldn't try attacking the rat for that long.

And so, they watched as Harry and the rest of the Weasleys followed one of the goblins through the door leading to the rollercoaster ride that led down to the vaults.

Once Ginny (and Scabbers) was out of sight, Ronnie decided to let Crookshanks down for a bit - though she kept an eye on him to see whether he decided to sneak off. However, he didn't. He just stretched rather nonchalantly before sitting down next to her and starting to lick his paws.

"Dad's really enthusiastic about Muggles," said Ronnie, turning to Mr. and Mrs. Granger again. "When you go for that drink, he's gonna be asking you all sorts of questions. Y'know, just so you're prepared."

"Thank you," said Mrs. Granger. "Hermione told us as much too. Really, it's just a relief to notice that —"

Whatever it was a relief to notice, Ronnie never found out, because at that point a sharp  _"Hey! Muggles!"_  sounded from further inside, and the source turned out to be a very angry-looking wizard with long brown hair. He ignored Ronnie and Hermione completely, instead focusing on Mr. and Mrs. Granger.

"Can we help you?" said Mr. Granger politely, but the wizard was in no mood for politeness.

"What were you doing talking to Harry Potter?!" he hissed. "I didn't want to cause a scene while the boy was here, because he's had enough horrible things happen to him thanks to  _your kind,_ but —"

"Our kind?" Hermione's parents looked absolutely flabbergasted.

 _"Muggles,"_  the wizard repeated. "Don't think that wizards don't pay attention to the world around them! Harry Potter was abused by Muggles!  _Harry Potter!_  Do you have any idea who that boy is? What he means? He's worth a million of you stinking Muggles!"

"My parents haven't done anything!" said Hermione, who suddenly had her wand in her hand and looked murderous. "You have no right to talk about them like this!"

Now the wizard turned to look at her, but when he saw the wand in her hand his expression changed; all of a sudden he had a sad smile on his face, his eyes filled with pity. "Muggle-born," he said. "Of course, I don't blame you, dear child. We can none of us help our parentage, and you're young. You don't understand."

"Hey, sod off, you wanker!" said Ronnie, taking a step towards him. "Who d'you think you are anyway?!"

He looked at her now, and his expression turned into one of vague annoyance - the hostility he'd displayed towards Mr. and Mrs. Granger remained absent, but it was clear he didn't have too much sympathy or pity to spare for young witches who called him a wanker and told him to sod off. "That's really none of your business, is it," he said.

"It's my business if you start threatening my friend's parents!"

"Your friend's parents are Muggles. Haven't you heard what they've done to Harry Potter? And they dare show their faces in his company!"

"Do you have dragon dung for brains or something?" Ronnie raged.  _"These_ Muggles haven't done anything to Harry Potter! They've never even met him before just now!"

 _"How do you know?!"_  The wanker didn't wait for an answer; he just turned back to Mr. and Mrs- Granger, hostility fully back. "If you had an ounce of shame, you would grovel at the boy's feet and beg for his forgiveness! I'm warning you, there are lots of us who think that wizards have been much too soft on Muggles! It's going to be different in the future, mark my words!" With that, he turned and walked out of the bank, right past the goblin guards who had noticed the commotion but not bothered to do anything about it. (Of course they hadn't; the wanker hadn't given any inclination that he was here to steal, or that he'd get violent, so why should they care if one human was talking unpleasantly to another?)

Ronnie's heart was pounding furiously in her chest, and she knew without having to look in a mirror that she'd turned that embarrassing pink colour again. Several of the other patrons of the bank were looking at the Grangers. Some of them were looking apologetic, others were nodding in agreement with what the wanker had said, but none of them made a move to come over.

Nobody else was going to say anything, so she did. "What a complete and utter bastard."

Hermione looked furious and her parents uncomfortable, but Crookshanks, who had been sitting on the floor and glaring at the wanker, suddenly raised himself and began stroking himself against Mrs. Granger's legs, purring and apparently trying to comfort her, before giving Mr. Granger's legs the same treatment.

"We're very used to people hating us for what we are," said Mr. Granger dryly, leaning down to stroke Crookshanks. "We're dentists, after all."

"That's not funny!" Hermione and Mrs. Granger both said in a reproachful tone.

An awkward silence fell between them all. There was so much Ronnie wanted to say to the Grangers. She wanted to apologise for that wanker, to tell them that that sort of attitude towards Muggles wasn't common and they shouldn't pay attention to it. But she had no idea how to say any of these things, especially not to a pair of adults, without it just getting embarrassing.

Finally, Mr. Granger said, with an air of forced cheerfulness: "Interesting banking system you have. I still don't understand the currency, though." He held up one of the Galleons that they had exchanged for their Muggle money. "Using actual gold to pay your way seems awfully inconvenient — is this even real gold?"

"Er — shouldn't it be?" said Ronnie, a little nonplussed.

"It certainly  _looks_ like it, but given that the exchange rate is only about five pounds to the Galleon, I was wondering. Even ignoring that gold seems a lot more plentiful in the wizarding world, how can anyone carry around any amount of money with these? I'd imagine it gets very heavy very fast."

"Oh, you just place a Feather-light Charm on your money pouch or your pocket," said Ronnie, eager to talk about something other than wankers. "It's dead easy, even first-years can do it... what's the matter?" she added when she noticed that Mrs. Granger was looking at her a little strangely.

"Oh, nothing, sorry," said Mrs. Granger. "I was just marveling at how much your people seem to take magic for granted. I had never even heard of a Feather-light Charm before now."

"There are a lot of things that Muggles take for granted that wizards don't know about too," said Hermione. "Television! Computers! Even telephones, Mum! Could you imagine a life without telephones? By the way, Ronnie, I'm still planning on introducing you to television one of these days!"

"Introducing?" said Ronnie, trying to keep up. "I thought television was supposed to be a thing, not a person. Am I supposed to say how d'you do to it?"

Mr. Granger laughed, and Hermione rolled her eyes. Ronnie suspected she'd said something stupid. Then again, that was a lot better than just being awkward about Muggle hatred, and so she continued: "Mind you, I know I did take, you know, potions for granted before, and look at how things are now, poor Neville is stuck at home because Pepper-up Potion doesn't work on him anymore, and as for me, what wouldn't I have given for a Dreamless Sleep potion to work on me when I -" She stopped herself mid-ramble.  _No. Don't go there._

"Maybe we can talk about this another time!" said Hermione, giving an oddly nervous look to her parents.

Ronnie might have questioned this (surely Hermione must have told her parents about the potion immunity by now?), but certain memories were suddenly flooding her brain, and she was suddenly quite busy telling herself:  _Don't talk about the Imperius, don't think about the Imperius._

"Are you all right?" Hermione looked at her with concern. So, to Ronnie's surprise, did her parents.

"Er, yes," she said, swallowing.

"Are you sure? You've gone pink again."

"Bloody hell," Ronnie swore. "I'm fine! Who're you gonna trust, me or the colour of my face?"

"Hmm." Hermione looked dubious, but didn't press the issue.

All in all, it was a bit of a relief when the others returned from the vaults. Harry looked vaguely uncomfortable for some reason (Ginny later confessed that he'd got a really guilty look on his face when seeing the sadly-empty Weasley vault and compared it to his own overflowing one), but the rest of them seemed in good spirits. Ronnie decided not to mention any encounters with Muggle-hating wizards, and apparently, Hermione and her parents felt the same way; at least none of them said anything as they joined the group in walking out of the bank and out onto the marble steps.

Well outside, after agreeing to meet at  _Flourish & Blotts _in one hour to get school books, and after Mum had forbidden everyone to set foot in Knockturn Alley again, they all separated once more - Mum to take Ginny off for the few first-year supplies that she couldn't inherit from her older siblings, Dad to take Hermione's parents for a drink at the Leaky Cauldron, and Fred, George and Percy scattering in separate directions, leaving Ronnie alone with Harry, Hermione and Crookshanks.

Hermione looked at her parents as they followed Dad off. "I'm not altogether sure that the total separation of wizards and Muggles is such a good idea when it comes down to it," she said. "Look at how all those wizards are condemning all Muggles because they learn of Harry's relatives, maybe if they actually knew more about Muggles they'd show a little less prejudice —"

"You wanna make Muggle Studies mandatory at Hogwarts?" said Ronnie.

"It would be a start," said Hermione, "instead of making it just a third-year elective. I've already decided that I'm going to sign up for it in third year."

"But you're Muggle-born," Harry pointed out. "You don't need Muggle Studies."

"Maybe not," said Hermione with a characteristic lack of modesty, "but imagine how fascinating it'll be to study them from a wizarding point of view!"

Ronnie paused. Yes, that certainly seemed like a valid reason — if you happened to be Hermione and obsessed with — but something told her that Hermione wasn't being entirely honest here. "Come on," she goaded, "what's the  _real_ reason?"

"That  _is_ the real reason!"

"The hell it is."

"It _is!"_

"Er — girls," said Harry, who seemed to be worried they'd start an argument. "How about we go for an ice cream? My treat!"

And so, with Crookshanks proudly following, they went off to Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlour, where Harry bought them all giant strawberry-and-peanut-butter ice creams. Ronnie, who was still a little overwhelmed that he'd bought her a cat, tried to insist on paying for her own, but Harry wouldn't hear of it.

They spent a pleasant enough hour going around with their ice creams (Ronnie offered Crookshanks a lick of hers, but he didn't seem to like the strawberry flavour), as Hermione stocked up on quills and ink, and Ronnie spent some time looking at the window displays of  _Quality Quidditch Supplies_ , and got into a lively discussion with Harry about what kind of broomstick they'd want if and when they got on the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

They met Fred and George together with their friend Lee Jordan in G _ambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop,_  where they were stocking up on wet-start fireworks, and spotted Percy in a small shop filled with second-hand junk, where he was checking out a small (and probably boring) book.

And soon enough, it was time for everyone to gather at  _Flourish & Blotts._ To their surprise, a big crowd had already gathered there and were shoving at one another to get inside. The reason for this could be read on a large banner stretched across the upper windows:

_GILDEROY LOCKHART_  
_will be signing copies of his autobiography_  
_MAGICAL ME_  
_today  
12:30 _ _PM - 4:30_ _PM_

 

"Isn't he the one who's written all the books for Defence this year?" said Harry.

"We can actually _meet_ him!" Hermione squealed. "Oh, all those books he's written — all the things he must know!"

Most of the crowd, it seemed, was made up of witches around Mum's age (and a very stressed-looking wizard Ronnie vaguely recognized as one of the workers at  _Flourish & Blotts_ was trying to organize them without much luck), and after one woman had accidentally stepped on Crookshanks's tail, Ronnie decided to pick him up and carry him.

Without much fuss, the cat climbed up on her shoulders to drape around her neck like a gigantic ginger fur stola, and there he stayed. He was a little heavy, and it got awfully warm, but at least now Ronnie had her hands free and didn't have to worry about anyone treading on him.

After a rather tiring few minutes of navigating the excited crowd they managed to find the rest of the Weasleys, together with Hermione's parents, inside the shop and in the middle of the longest line.

"Oh, there you are," said Mum, sounding breathless and patting her hair.

"Nice scarf, Ron," said George, nodding at Crookshanks. "Starting a new fashion?"

"Oh yes," said Ronnie, trying to sound posh. "It's the latest thing, you know, living scarves..."

For once, George didn't try to answer her joke with an even better one; he just grinned at her.

"We've already picked out your books," said Mum, "so we're going to have them signed... we'll be able to see him in a minute."

"Mum fancies Lockhart!" Fred sang under his breath.

"Don't be silly, Fred. Look, there he is!"

Everyone looked — and there, at the end of the crowd, he was. he man of the hour, seated at a table and surrounded by pictures of himself. Of course Ronnie already knew what the man looked like. It was difficult not to know, with how his pictures were everywhere around the shop, smiling with brilliant white teeth and winking cheekily at any girl who happened to catch their eye. But there he was, in real life, right at the end of the line, dressed in perfectly-fitting blue robe and a pointy hat that had probably taken ages of tweaking and adjusting in order to look so perfectly casually-thrown-on.

Ronnie thought he looked rather silly, really, but Hermione was watching him with rapt attention and looked about as starstruck as Ginny had the first time she'd met Harry.

"Oh no," Ronnie groaned. "Not you too!"

"Not me too?" Hermione blinked and gave her a half-confused, half-annoyed look. "What  _are_ you talking about?"

"Never mind —  _hey, watch where you're going, will you?!"_ Ronnie snapped at the grouchy-looking photographer who had almost stepped on her foot.

"Out of the way," he snarled. "This is for the  _Daily Prophet -"_

 _"Daily Prophet!"_  The voice came from Ginny, who was now joining Ronnie and looking murderous. "Do you have any idea what you've done to Dad?! Or to poor Harry?!"

"What? I have no idea what you're talking about! If you have a complaint, send an owl like everyone else!" The photographer tried to move closer to Lockhart, but Ginny was blocking his path.

"All the nasty letters we've got — I ought to  _kick_ you right in the —"

In a flash, Harry was over by Ginny and placing a hand on her shoulder. "Ginny, please don't," he said. "He's not worth it! If you cause a scene here, they'll only write more nasty things!"

"But he's so... so..." Ginny fumed — and then stopped, her expression going from angry to shocked as it apparently reached her brain that Harry was  _touching_ her.  _"Squeak!"_

"What's going on back there?!" called a voice that Ronnie thought belonged to the wizard who was trying to control the crowd. "If you ladies can't control yourselves, I'm going to —"

"Bless my soul, if it isn't Harry Potter!" Gilderoy Lockhart had leaped to his feet and was hurrying towards them, the awestruck crowd parting around him. "My dear boy, I have  _so_ been looking forward to meeting you!" Without waiting for a reply, he grabbed a very surprised Harry and dragged him up to the front of the crowd. Harry was so surprised that he apparently forgot to let go of Ginny, who ended up being dragged along.

The photographer hurried after them, and Lockhart made a big show out of shaking Harry's hand for the camera, and over the applause of the crowd Ronnie could just make out the man's words: "Such a pleasure — heard about your unfortunate situation, of course, so glad you're among wizards again — turn a little more to the left so the camera catches my good side — and who is this charming young lady?"

 _"Squeak,"_  said Ginny, with a frozen and wide-eyed expression not unlike that of a Mooncalf caught in the sun, as Lockhart patted her on the head in what he probably thought was a friendly way.

Ronnie tried to get past the crowd to come to her sister's rescue, with Crookshanks's tail lashing irritably against her shoulder, but the number of fans blocking the way was too great, and she was suddenly and unexpectedly held back by Hermione, who hissed: "He's not going to hurt them! He's  _Gilderoy Lockhart!_  Don't make a scene!"

"You should listen to the Mudblood, Weasley," came an all-too-familiar sneering voice from behind them. "Even an abomination to wizardry like her has more sense than you."

 _"Sod off, Malfoy!"_  Ronnie snapped without even turning to look.

Not bothered by the crowd. Draco Malfoy stepped into view with a smug look. "I've got as much right to be in this shop as you do, Weasley. Besides, it's much too fun to watch Potter."

Oblivious to all this, Gilderoy Lockhart placed an arm around Harry and one around Ginny, and turned to the crowd to announce: "Ladies and gentlemen! What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment, in fact, for me, to make a little announcement!"

Harry looked like he would rather be anywhere else than there right now. Ginny was coming out of her stupor and blinking at the camera; even Scabbers was peeking out of her coat pocket to see what was going on.

"When young Harry here, and his lady friend —" (Ginny's face was extremely red at this point) "— stepped into  _Flourish and Blotts_  today, they only wanted my autobiography, and I shall of course be happy to present them each with a copy, free of charge!" The crowd applauded and cheered. "What they didn't know," Lockhart continued, "was that in a few weeks' time they will be getting much, much more than my book  _Magical Me!_  They, and their schoolmates will in fact be getting the  _real_ magical me! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

The crowd went wild. Clapping and cheering and hooting, with the photographer taking so many pictures that he would have enough to fill an entire album soon. Harry and Ginny were both presented with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart, which consisted of a great many books, and pretty much stumbled back towards Ronnie and Hermione weighed-down by the books, as Lockhart went back to his chair and most of the crowd returned their attention to him.

A number of people, however remained focused on Harry and Ginny, and particularly Harry.

"Couldn't resist, could you, Potter?" said Malfoy. "Always have to be the center of attention. Of course," he added with a mock expression of pity, "I understand that, being raised by Muggles, you know nothing of dignity, much less of behaving like an actual, civilized person. I did tell the readers of the  _Daily Prophet_  not to judge you too harshly."

"Shut it, Malfoy!" said Harry hotly, more or less dropping the books into Ronnie's available arms. "Here, you take them, I'll buy my own."

"Oh, really, what  _is_ it with you and those darling Weasleys of yours, Potter?" said Malfoy, the very picture of smug superiority. "Such limited vocabularies. It's  _'shut up, Malfoy'_  this and  _'sod off, Malfoy'_  that. Don't you ever have anything original to say?"

"How about ' _I suspect you of cheating on your Potions exam, Malfoy, and am considering writing to the Headmaster about it'_?" said Hermione sweetly.

Malfoy went paler than usual. "Shut up, Granger," he hissed.

"Draco, please, don't mingle with the riff-raff." It was of course Lucius Malfoy, who had approached them all, and nonchalantly picked up one of the books Ginny was holding, almost toppling the rest of the pile so that she had to struggle to keep her balance. "Dear me, a signed first edition Lockhart book... this must be worth more than your father makes in a year. I see being in the famous 'Potter's Gang' pays off."

"Not as much as selling Dark artifacts and illegal poisons," Ronnie snapped.

Mr. Malfoy took a sharp breath and raised his hand as if to strike her, causing Ronnie to flinch and bump into Ginny, who lost her balance and fell on her arse as books hit the floor around her. But before Ronnie could even apologise to her sister, Mr. Malfoy let his hand fall without striking the blow, just glaring at her instead.

"I'll tell you this only  _once_ , little girl," he said in a voice soaked in cold fury. "You will pay for that big mouth of yours. Not from me, and not today, but you  _will_ regret your lack of -"

 _"Scabbers!"_  Ginny sudenly cried.

Ronnie turned around just in time to see the rat, having fallen out of Ginny's coat pocket, making a dash for freedom. Something must really have spooked him, because he was running faster than he had ever done before, easily evading Ginny's attempts at catching him. An elderly witch shrieked as he ran between her legs, and the nearest crowd members were moving aside to avoid stepping on him, and then he was out of sight.

Just then, Crookshanks jumped off Ronnie's shoulders and set off after him ("Crookshanks,  _no!"_ ), causing an even bigger commotion in the crowd.

The Weasley sisters exchanged horrified glances and, Ronnie shoving the Lockhart books over to Hermione with such speed that several of them joined Ginny's copies on the floor, they both tried to get in between the crowd to find their pets, to encouragement from several crowd members who had seen what happened and loud protests from several who hadn't.

"He went that way!"

"Young lady, don't push!"

"Has anyone seen a rat?"

"What's all the fuss about? I just want Lockhart to sign my book!"

"Kitty, kitty!"

"Er — ratty, ratty!"

"Children today! I blame the parents!"

After who-knows-how-many-minutes of this, a surprised crowd parted as a huge figure appeared, and for the second time that day Hagrid was coming to the rescue. Just like always whenever he was indoors, he looked much too big for everything — but he had somehow managed to catch Crookshanks, and now he was holding the grumpy-looking cat in one enormous hand, keeping his face turned away.

"Take 'im, take 'im!" he said.

Ronnie (though she was tall for her age) had to stretch in order to reach her pet. "Thank you, Hagrid!" she said breathlessly, burying her face in Crookshanks's soft fur.

"S'all righ'," said Hagrid. "Managed ter sweep 'im up, so — so —" He interrupted himself with a gigantic sneeze, and pulled a handkerchief the size of a bedsheet out of his pocket to wipe his nose. "Sorry abou' that," he murmured. "Told yeh cats make me sneeze."

"Did you see Scabbers?" Ginny had come up to them, looking about ready to cry.

"Sorry, no," said Hagrid. "Findin' a rat in this crowd...!"

The other Weasleys and Grangers had gathered now, by Harry and Hermione, but the Malfoys had vanished (maybe Mr. Malfoy wasn't very keen on another meeting with Hagrid). The books that had been dropped had been picked up again, and the commotion was dying down around the crowd, most of whom seemed to take the view that now that one of the missing pets were found, the crisis was mostly over. Even Lockhart had gone back to signing books and looked quite unconcerned with the disturbance.

"I'm sorry, Ginny," said Dad. "He could be anywhere by now. I'll talk to the shopkeepers and ask them to keep an eye out for him."

"Mum," Ginny pleaded. "Can't you Summon him?"

"Ginny, sweetie, you know the Summoning charm hardly ever works on living creatures," said Mum sadly. But she did pull her wand out and flicked it with an  _"Accio Scabbers!"_

Nothing happened. Ginny burst into tears.

 

* * *

 

 

There wasn't much to be done. Mr. Granger wondered if they could try "scrying" for the rat, but as nobody knew what that was, and his explanation about some dungeon-centered game he'd played while in university didn't make much sense, that plan immediately died. Crookshanks would probably have been able to locate Scabbers like he had Harry, but sending a cat out to find a rat didn't seem like a very good idea, especially when said cat has already tried chasing after the rat.

Nevertheless, everyone spent hours trying to find Scabbers. They searched the shop, they talked to the staff, and to several members of the crowd, but to no avail. Though many had seen Scabbers running past, nobody could say where he'd got to in the end.

All in all, it wasn't a happy crew that eventually parted ways (though with hugs and fond "see you on the Hogwarts Express" from Hermione); Hagrid to return to Hogwarts, the Grangers to go back to their Muggle home, and Harry and the Weasleys back to the Burrow.

For the rest of the day, while Crookshanks was eagerly exploring his new home, Ginny was lying on her bed and crying over her lost pet. "Why did I take him along?" she sobbed. "I should have left him at home! He's probably dead already!"

Ronnie felt guilty. She was grateful when Fred and George offered to take Harry out broomstick flying "to show him a few moves" so that she could be alone with Ginny for a bit.

"You know," she said, sitting down on the edge of Ginny's bed, "it's my fault too. If I hadn't brought Crookshanks...! I didn't even think about Scabbers!"

Ginny just sobbed.

"But, you know," she repeated, in the hope that her new thought might cheer Ginny a little. "Scabbers was a wild rat when Percy found him. He's fended for himself before. Besides, he's smart. I bet he'll manage just fine."

Ginny lifted her tear-streaked face. "You don't even believe that yourself," she said accusingly.

Ronnie felt herself turning pink. Ginny was right, of course; deep down, she severely doubted that Scabbers would last as much as five minutes on his own. He'd probably been a tough rat once (the missing toe at least hinted that he'd been in a few fights), but now he was old, much older than any other rat she'd heard of, incredibly lazy, and no doubt softened by a long life as a pampered pet. "It  _could_ happen," she said feebly.

"Besides, what do  _you_ care?" said Ginny. "You never liked him! You love all animals except him!"

"I liked him! ...well, okay, but  _you_ liked him."

"Ron, if you love me at all,  _stop_ trying to make me feel better!" Ginny rolled over on her side to face the wall and not looking at Ronnie - her classic  _'I'm-going-to-ignore-you-now'_  signal. Usually Ronnie hated this, but today she couldn't really blame Ginny for not feeling social.

Sighing slightly, she raised herself. "All right," she said. "I'm gonna go look through the school books then. Hermione'll kill me if I don't at least look at them before school starts. Maybe I'll ask Harry if he wants to go through them together with me when he, Fred and George come back?" When Ginny didn't react to this, she continued: "Want to join us if I do? I'm sure  _Harry_ can tell you a lot about what the first year of Hogwarts is like..."

Ginny rolled around again and pulled the bedcovers over her head.

Ronnie gave up. It had been a long shot anyway. She went over to the desk where her and Ginny's books were gathered in a pile, still all mixed up from the tumble at the book shop, and picked up the first book she could grab. It turned out to be  _Year With The Yeti,_  one of the many books that Lockhart had given to Harry and signed.

She was about to take it out of the room when she noticed that something was wedged in between its pages, like an unusually large and thick bookmark. Upon opening the book, she found that the "bookmark" was in fact another book; a small, thin, black and very old-looking book. It looked like a notebook, or — no, it was a diary.

Carefully, she removed it from the pages of Gilderoy Lockhart and held it up to get a better look. On the front cover she could just barely make out the number  _1943,_ and the back cover proudly if somewhat fadedly displayed the almost unreadable name of a variety store on Vauxhall Road, London. Ronnie had no idea where Vauxhall Road was, but vas fairly certain that it was in the Muggle part of London.

Ronnie had heard a lot of nice little stories about unpleasant things that happened to people who read unknown books — books that made you talk only in limericks, books that burned your eyes out, books you could never stop reading. But this was a Muggle book; it couldn't be too dangerous, could it?

To her relief and disappointment, the pages were completely blank. Only on the first page was something written, in faded letters:  _T. M. RIDDLE._  Which was either the name of the original owner, or possibly a hint that said original owner had intended on writing a riddle on that first page but never got around to it.

Was this some sort of campaign stunt by Gilderoy Lockhart to sell more books?  _Buy all my books, get a really old Muggle diary for free?_  Or maybe it had got mixed up without anyone noticing — maybe Percy had bought it; he'd been looking at an old book in that second-hand shop, hadn't he? It could have been this one.

"Hey, Ginny!" Ronnie held up the book. "Have you seen this before? It's a Muggle diary."

Ginny still refused to come out from underneath her covers.

"Must be Percy's then," said Ronnie. Now she regretted not having gone out with Harry, Fred and George, but at least now she had an excuse to leave. "I'll just go and give it back to him, okay?"

When Ginny didn't answer, Ronnie went off to Percy's room, where he'd shut himself up, as usual — he'd barely been out of his room all Summer, and refused to say what he was doing in there.

Ronnie knocked on the door. "Percy! I've got your diary!"

"You've got my what?" came Percy's voice from the other side of the door.

"Didn't you buy a diary in that junk shop at Diagon Alley?"

"Of course I didn't! What a question." Percy's voice sounded annoyed. "I only bought one book in that shop, and that's a study of Hogwarts prefects and their later careers."

That did sound like something Percy would find interesting, Ronnie had to admit, as she looked at the diary. Nothing about prefects there. "Where did this diary come from, then?"

"How should I know? If you're going to talk nonsense, could you please find someone else to do it with? I'm busy!"

"You're always busy lately! What are you —" Ronnie stopped herself. No point in asking that again. Instead, she said: "If this isn't your diary, I suppose you won't mind if I scribble all over it?"

"I honestly don't care, Ronnie! Do what you like, just go away!"

"I'll write dirty words in it! On every page!"

" _Goodbye,_ Ronnie!"

Ginny had thrown the covers aside again when Ronnie returned to their room — it must have got too warm to lie under them in the August afternoon. Her face was still streaked with tears, but she had stopped crying, and it was with a certain curiosity she watched Ronnie march up to the desk, put the diary down and began searching for her quill.

"What are you doing now?" she finally asked.

"I'm going to write all the dirty words I know down in this diary!" said Ronnie, finally locating the quill and the ink-bottle, opening the diary on the first page.

Ginny blinked. "Why?"

"Because I told Percy I would."

"Right. That makes perfect sense."

Ronnie dipped her quill in the ink and wrote, right underneath the faded name of T.M. Riddle, and in large letters:  _ARSE._

 _TITS,_  she added after a second's pause _._

 _FUCK FUCK FUCKING WANKERS,_ was the next line, followed by  _BUGGER THOSE ARSEHOLES!_ and then _TWATS AND WANKSTAINS!_

Weirdly enough, she felt a little better after having written this, and felt better still when she heard Ginny giggling and realised she was now standing behind her and reading over her shoulder. "Percy told you to write that?"

"He didn't tell me  _not_ to."

"Good luck getting Mum to buy that explanation if she ever sees this." But despite her words, Ginny did look a little more cheerful than before.

Encouraged that she seemed to have taken Ginny's mind off Scabbers for the moment, Ronnie wrote  _SHAG ME WITH MY KNICKERS ON,_  and burst into giggles. All right, it was childish, but it felt good to laugh. She was just about to start writing down the  _really_ dirty words, the ones nobody even knew she knew — when all of a sudden, quite without warning, all the words she had written completely vanished from the page, as if the paper simply absorbed them.

Ronnie pulled the quill back so fast that a small drop of ink dripped onto the page, and that too vanished, leaving behind a page as blank and empty as it had been before she had started writing.

And then, quite on their own, new words began forming on the page, in Ronnie's own ink, words she'd never written:

_You have an impressive vocabulary, but perhaps a little crude?_

"Fucking hell!" Ronnie blurted out, staring at the page.

"Didn't you say this was a  _Muggle_ diary?" said Ginny.

"Well, it  _looked_ Muggle!" said Ronnie. "Got the name of a Muggle shop on the back cover and everything!"

"Muggles don't have books that write by themselves," said Ginny, and then added in a slightly more uncertain tone: "Do they?"

Ronnie had to think a bit about that. Dad always did say that Muggles could do more than wizards gave them credit for, but did that include self-writing diaries? Probably not, she decided. It was more likely, then, that this T. M. Riddle had bought the diary in a Muggle shop and enchanted it afterwards.

Just as she was about to tell Ginny her conclusion, the text on the page vanished. Moments later, it was replaced with:  _Hello? Are you there?_

"I don't think it can hear us," said Ginny. "Or see us."

"It's a book. It doesn't have eyes or ears. Probably doesn't even know there are two of us." Ronnie looked at the quill in her hand and re-loaded it with ink. "Well, one way to find out. Watch this." And with that she put quill to paper and wrote:  _My name is Draco Malfoy._

This time, the ink seeped into the page and vanished almost immediately, and more words formed on the page:  _Hello, Draco Malfoy. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?_

Ronnie giggled. "See? It thinks I'm Malfoy."

 _"He_  thinks you're Malfoy," Ginny corrected. "He said his name was Tom."

"Oh, yeah. Tom." Ronnie paused. There was something strangely familiar about that name. She'd heard it before somewhere, but couldn't remember just where or in what context. (What she wouldn't give to have Harry's memory; he always seemed to remember even the smallest details of the past.) Wait — the old barman at the  _Leaky Cauldron_  was named Tom, wasn't he?

"Write something more!" Ginny urged. "Pretend you're Malfoy! How would he have come by the diary?"

"Oh, I know!" Ronnie giggled and wrote:  _I stole it. The previous owner was complete scum and clearly unworthy of owning a diary._

 _Unworthy?_ Tom wrote back. The letters looked slightly shaky, as if he was writing in a hurried way.  _Who was the previous owner? Where did you get the diary, Draco? Tell me!_

 _Sod off, Riddle,_ Ronnie wrote, still in character as Malfoy. _I do not take orders from a lowly Muggle book! I am from the most Pureblooded of all Pureblood families, and I'm going to tell my father on you!_

Ginny broke down laughing.

The words vanished, and the page went blank for several seconds. Then, when the text appeared again, it was far less shaky, as if Tom was forcing himself to be calm.  _I do apologise,_  he wrote.  _That was very rude of me. But I do not think you understand how important this diary is. It mustn't fall into the wrong hands. Please, tell me where you got it._

Ronnie exchanged glances with Ginny. The text seemed so serious that she dropped the act and wrote:  _I don't understand. What do you mean, wrong hands? Why is this diary so important?_

 _Secrets, Draco,_  Tom answered.  _Powerful secrets. Secrets that could change the entire world if they were known. I preserved them in this diary. Now, please tell me where you got it._

The Weasley sisters looked at one another again.

"What's a diary with secrets that could change the entire world doing inside a Gilderoy Lockhart book?" said Ronnie.

"Ir's a lie," said Ginny. "It must be." But she didn't sound so certain.

Hesitantly, Ronnie wrote:  _What secrets?_

 _I don't dare to tell you, at least not yet,_ came the response.  _No offence to such a great Pureblood, of course, but I don't even know if I can trust you. You admitted to stealing the book and won't tell me who from._

 _I got it from Gilderoy Lockhart._ Well, Ronnie thought as she wrote this, it was technically true.

 _Lockhart..._ If text could ever be said to look thoughtful, Tom's certainly did. _I don't know the name._

 _You don't?_ Ronnie wrote. _He's famous!_

Surprisingly, Tom responded to this with:  _What year is it, please?_

 _1992,_ Ronnie replied, almost automatically.  _Why?_

 _That long..._ Again, Tom's writing seemed to take on an inexplicably thoughtful look. _That explains it. It's been more than forty years since this diary was first enchanted, so i hope you will forgive me that I'm not up-to-date with the latest celebrity gossip._

Ginny stifled a giggle. "What?" she said, a tad defensively. "That was kinda funny."

 _All I know is that this Gilderoy Lockhart is certainly not on the list of the very few people I would have trusted with this diary,_ Tom continued. _If you say he is scum, then he probably got it through dodgy means. I usually don't condone stealing, Draco, but you may have done a very good thing when you stole my diary from him._

 _What could he have done with it?_ Ronnie wrote.

_Terrible things. Or wonderful things. As I said, this diary contains powerful secrets. Once again, I'm not certain it's safe to go into details. But tell me, Draco, do you know Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?_

"Is he serious?" said Ronnie, looking back at Ginny. "Everyone knows Hogwarts! What sort of bollocks question is that?"

"The sort of question someone who's forty years out of date would ask, I suppose," said Ginny sagely. "A lot of things must've changed in forty years."

 _Yes, I do,_  Ronnie wrote.  _I'm about to start my second year there. Gilderoy Lockhart's about to begin as Defence against the Dark Arts teacher there too,_ she added after a moment's hesitation.

 _Are you perhaps at Hogwarts right now?_  Tom's question came quicker than any of the others had; it was hard to tell from the text, but he almost seemed excited.

_No, it's Summer. School starts in about two weeks._

This time it took a little longer for Tom's next line to appear.  _Draco, I realise that it's very forward of me to ask, but will you do me a favour? When you go to Hogwarts, will you take my diary with you? If Gilderoy Lockhart had my diary, and was going to Hogwarts, that can't be a coincidence. He may be up to no good, but I can't stop him on my own. I'm just an enchanted diary. I will need the help of a talented Pureblood like yourself._

"This," said Ronnie, "is starting to become seriously effed up."

"But why would Lockhart give you the diary if he was planning to use it for bad things at Hogwarts?" said Ginny.

"He didn't! He gave the books to  _Harry,_  remember? He must have wanted Harry to have the diary!"

"All right, why would he give  _Harry_ the diary? Was it just a mistake, or...? No, that doesn't seem likely."

 _Please, Draco,_ Riddle wrote when Ronnie didn't reply to him. _I really do need your help. The entire world may need your help._

Ronnie swallowed. She had no idea what to do, or what to believe.  _What can I do?_  she wrote.

 _You can spy on this Gilderoy Lockhart for me. Try to find out what he does, if he acts suspiciously, and then tell me about it. If I know what he's up to, I might be able to figure out how he can be stopped._ There was a slight pause after the text faded, and then Tom added:  _It is, of course, possible that I'm wrong. That he just had my diary through some strange coincidence and that nothing untoward is going on. But I need to know. I beg you, Draco. Help me._

Ronnie looked at Ginny again. "What do we do?" she asked.

"Why are you asking  _me?!"_

Shakingly, Ronnie put quill to paper again.  _Can I think about it for a bit?_

 _Of course,_ Tom answered.  _I don't want to force you to do anything. I can only appeal to your better nature and Pureblood honour._

"Good thing it's not the real Malfoy you're talking to then," Ronnie muttered. "He doesn't have a better nature. And  _Pureblood honour?_  First time I've ever heard of  _that."_

_Also, if you help me, I might be able to help you. I know a lot of interesting magic you might find useful. And, not to brag, but I have been known to give good advice in the past. I could help you with all sorts of problems you might have. I could be like a sage friend you can carry around in your pocket._

"He does know how to make an offer tempting, doesn't he..." said Ginny.

 _But sleep on it,_ Tom suggested.  _Think about it for a while. There's not much you can do before school starts anyway. By the way, does anyone else know about me?_

Ronnie looked at Ginny again, but the younger girl shook her head furiously. "Say no!"

 _No,_  Ronnie answered.

_I see. I beg you to keep it that way then. Don't even tell your family or closest friends. I'm sure they are trustworthy, but there are such things as truth serums and other ways of getting people to talk. The fewer people who know about me, the safer we all are._

Ronnie took a deep breath and closed the book. To her surprise, her heart was pounding in her chest and she felt cold shivers down her back, even in the heat of the room. Ginny was looking uncertain and a little pale.

"What do we do?" Ronnie repeated. "Can we even trust Tom? I'm not sure he was completely honest with us. A little too much on about Purebloods for my liking."

"We weren't completely honest with him either," said Ginny. "He still thinks we're Malfoy."

"Well, yeah. If I was trying to get a Malfoy's help in anything, I'd probably lie my arse off too," Ronnie admitted. "And talk about Purebloods."

Just then, she heard the front door downstairs slam, and Fred's cheerful voice announcing:  _"We're home!"_

"Oh," said Ronnie, looking down at the diary, then at Ginny, then towards the door, through which the voices of Fred, George and Harry could now clearly be heard. "How about we talk more about this tonight, after we've gone to bed? We can plan what to do then!"

Ginny nodded. "Better hide the diary in the meantime," she said, snatching it up from the desk and then hurrying over to her bed to hide the small book under her pillow. "And let's not tell anyone about it until we're certain what to do!"

"Agreed," said Ronnie, looking at Ginny's pillow. It looked completely normal, with no sign that an enchanted diary was hiding under it. "C'mon, let's go find out how many weird tricks Fred and George have taught Harry on that broomstick."

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh. Ronnie and Ginny may be heading for trouble... Tom Riddle takes a slightly different approach with who he thinks is Draco Malfoy than he did in canon with Ginny. With Ginny, he found it more convenient to pretend just to be her diary - here, he's trying to appeal to a different mindset.
> 
> And why did Scabbers run off? Was it Crookshanks, was it Lucius Malfoy... or was it something else?
> 
> Oh, and on a lighter note: It may seem kind of strange that Hermione's mother thinks of her as "shy," but I think it fits. Hermione isn't a particularly social person and before Hogwarts probably kept to her own for the most part. Mr. Granger apparently played Dungeons & Dragons in his youth, proving that even dentists can be proud geeks. Next chapter, Neville returns, and a certain blonde, "loony" girl is waiting to make her first Weasley Girl appearance.


	5. A Loony On The Hogwarts Express

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter actually contains some of my oldest ideas for Weasley Girl. As soon as I knew I was going to write beyond Harry's first year, I knew I was going to write this chapter. And it only took about a year until I actually got to write it too.

For as long as Ronnie could remember, the morning of September the 1st had been a time for hectic chaos at the Burrow.

The Hogwarts Express always left from Platform Nine-And-Three-Quarters at 11 o'clock in the morning, sharp, and Mum always insisted on everyone getting an early start so that  _this_ year they wouldn't have to rush — and yet, somehow, even though everyone tried to have everything packed and ready days in advance, and got up at the crack of dawn when the day came, it never helped. Everyone always ended up remembering at the very last moment that there were five dozen different things they'd forgotten to do or pack. And so they were all running up and down the stairs in various states of undress, colliding with each other as they searched for things they couldn't find while trying to eat breakfast at the same time.

When they were younger, Ronnie and Ginny had been confined to their room on these mornings, just so they wouldn't get in everyone's way. But now, when they were both going to Hogwarts, they were rushing around along with everyone else, because Ginny couldn't find the scales she'd inherited from Charlie, and Ronnie's quill had gone hiding somewhere. Among other things.

Harry, who clearly wasn't used to the September-the-1st rush, seemed a little lost in all the chaos, but he did manage to narrowly avoid colliding with Percy on the staircase between the second and third floors, and had some problems getting Hedwig to agree to go into her cage for the trip, so at least he was getting into the spirit of things.

The only one who took everything calmly was Crookshanks, who had wandered out into the yard and was sitting there watching everyone rush back and forth to the car with all their luggage. It was clear he thought the entire thing was vaguely ridiculous, especially when Dad almost tripped over one of the chickens while hauling Ginny's trunk.

"Did you pack the diary, Ronnie?" said Ginny as they entered their room for the last time, to make certain nothing was left behind.

"No, I thought you did — oh, bugger!" Ronnie rushed over to her bed and lifted up her pillow, where the little book to her relief was waiting for her.

It had taken some time for the Weasley sisters to decide on what to do with the strange diary, but after having thought of and rejected about a dozen plans, they'd finally settled on the one that seemed to make the most sense: Keep the diary a secret until they got to Hogwarts, and then take it to Dumbledore. If there was anyone that was absolutely trustworthy, and wise enough to be able to figure out whether it was Gilderoy Lockhart or Tom Riddle that was the villain here.

Ronnie had, still in the role as Draco Malfoy, written with Tom twice more. She hadn't managed to write more often because of Crookshanks — whenever the cat had seen her trying to write in the diary, he had jumped up to lie down on it so she couldn't write anything. Maybe he thought it was some sort of fun game, or maybe he just thought Ronnie shouldn't waste her attention on a diary when she could be spending it on  _him_. Ronnie didn't have the heart to get too angry with him for it, though it had meant that she could only write in the diary when she was certain he wasn't in the room.

Tom, on the two occasions she had spoken to him, had been very polite, even friendly, but was clearly getting a little impatient —  _after all,_  he'd written,  _I am dependent on you, Draco._ He'd been pleased when Ronnie had said she would take the diary to Hogwarts, though, and had wanted her to promise to tell him as soon as she was in her dorm. (He'd asked what house she was in, so she'd had to answer "Slytherin" and then pretend that someone was calling for her before he got around to asking her what the Slytherin common room was like. Pretending to be Malfoy wasn't easy.)

Now she picked the book up. "Well, Tom," she said, knowing full well that he couldn't hear her and probably wasn't even aware of her when she wasn't writing to him, "you'll have to go in my pocket. I think the diary's small enough to fit."

It was, but only just barely. Her trousers were perhaps a little small for her (she had grown a bit lately), and while the diary did fit, it wasn't very comfortable and would probably be even less so when she sat down. Oh well, couldn't be helped. She could change into her robes on the train, they had much roomier pockets.

"Girls!" Mum called from downstairs. "Hurry up, we have to leave!"

"Coming, Mum!" Ginny called.

Out in the yard, Dad had got into the car, and everyone crowded to get in. You wouldn't think that eight people, two owls and one cat would fit in a normal-sized Ford Anglia, but as Dad had secretly enchanted the insides to subtly expand to fit however many people were in the car at the time, everyone fit quite comfortably.

Ginny, who was smallest, sat in the front with Mum and Dad, while the rest of them got into the back. Crookshanks jumped in and settled down on Ronnie's lap, and Harry and Percy both had the cages with their owls on their laps. Hedwig was giving Harry dirty looks from her cage; she wasn't too fond of her cage after having had to spend two month straight in it.

"I'm sorry," said Harry to her. "I promise I'll let you out as soon as we get to Hogwarts, and then you won't have to go back into your cage for several months."

Hedwig still sulked a little, but did accept the owl treat he fished out of his pocket to give her, so apparently Harry's offence wasn't completely unforgivable.

"I wish Scabbers was here," said Ginny wistfully from the front seat. Seeing Harry, Ronnie and Percy with their pets probably made her miss her rat.

"Chin up, dear," said Mum. "That nice clerk from  _Flourish & Blotts_ promised that he'd owl us if someone found Scabbers, remember?"

Of course, as it had been more than two weeks, nobody (not even Mum, and certainly not Ginny) had any hope of seeing Scabbers again alive, but nobody said this out loud.

"Well," said Dad. "Everyone comfortable? Then we're off!"

It turned out that they weren't, though. They'd barely got out of the driveway before they had to go back so that George could fetch his box of Filibuster fireworks. Then, just as they were off again, Fred realised he's left his broomstick, and so they had to go back for that.

"I swear you two do this on purpose," Percy muttered sourly as they drove out of the yard for the third time.

"Dad, better go back again," said George. "Percy forgot his sense of humour."

"No, keep going, Dad!" said Fred. "Can't forget something he never had in the first place!"

"Oh, shut up!" said Percy.

Dad tried to talk Mum into flying instead of driving the normal way ("Nobody would see — use the Invisibility Booster I installed, then fly over the clouds, we'd be there in ten minutes."), but she utterly refused.

Not that it turned out to be necessary. After an otherwise eventless journey, they managed to reach King's Cross at half past ten, half an hour before the train was to leave. As Percy said, this had to be the earliest they'd ever managed to arrive for the train.

They barely even had to stress as they found the trolleys to unload their luggage onto and roll into the station, with Hermes and Hedwig in their cages and Crookshanks sitting proudly on top of Ronnie's trunk as he was being wheeled forward. A few Muggles did turn to look at them, but Muggles always looked. The trick was to get past the barrier to Platform Nine-And-Three-Quarters when said Muggles  _weren't_ looking.

Mum was grumbling and fussing, of course, but she always did that at King's Cross, so nobody was paying too much attention to her — at least not until she said: "Why, here's Xeno Lovegood! That's right, little Luna's starting Hogwarts this year as well, isn't she?"

They all turned to see a sight that made a lot more Muggles turn their heads and stare than the Weasleys had. There, pulling a trolley behind him (rather awkwardly because the trolleys were designed to be pushed in front of you), came their closest wizarding neighbour, Xenophilius Lovegood. He was a tall, thin man, with long blonde hair roughly the texture of candyfloss, and currently he was wearing a suit that looked Muggle in everything but colour; it was the loudest shade of purple Ronnie had ever seen.

On the trolley, sitting on top of a wooden chest that looked like it was made of oak, sat the daughter of the Lovegood household. She was a blonde girl roughly Ginny's age, looking around at everything with large, silvery-grey eyes, with an expression not unlike what you might see on a young kitten; complete wide-eyed amazement at everything around her. She was wearing a dress the exact same shade of purple as her father's suit, and had tucked her wand behind her ear for safekeeping.

Ronnie hadn't seen Luna Lovegood for ages, but it seemed that the girl hadn't changed much.

"Hello, everyone!" Mr. Lovegood greeted, sounding out of breath. "So glad to see you all again!"

"For heaven's sake, Xeno, you're supposed to  _push_ the trolleys, not  _pull_ them." Mum was immediately over by him. "And they're not meant to be rides for children either!"

"Oh, but it's tradition that a first-time Hogwarts student gets to ride the trolley through King's Cross," said Mr. Lovegood, letting go of the trolley in order to catch his breath. "And it's terrible bad luck to push things around on a Wednesday. Attracts Wrackspurts, you know."

Ronnie didn't know what a Wrackspurt was (probably another one of those things that nobody but Mr. Lovegood had actually heard of, like the tradition of first-year trolley rides), but she did know one thing. "It's not Wednesday today, it's Tuesday," she said.

"No, really?!" Mr. Lovegood blinked. "I could have sworn it was Wednesday. Well, that makes me look rather silly, doesn't it?"

"Er..." Ronnie had no idea what to say to that."

"It is still September the 1st, right?" said Mr. Lovegood, apparently worried that he might have got the dates wrong as well, but he breathed a sigh of relief when they assured him that yes, it was September the 1st and he was in time for the Hogwarts express.

"So your daughter's off to Hogwarts for the first time, right, Xeno?" said Dad.

 _"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,"_ sang Luna, starting on the famous school song and causing several more Muggles to turn their heads and stare.

"Er, yes," said Dad, a little uncertainly, as Luna kept singing. "It's Ginny's first year as well. You both know the family — this is Ronnie's friend, Harry Potter."

"Ah yes, good day to you," said Mr. Lovegood to Harry with a lopsided smile. "We've never met, of course, but I'm happy you're staying with Molly and Arthur. Decent folks if ever I knew any. I'm Xenophilius Lovegood, and this is my Luna."

Luna, who was still singing, waved from her perch on the trolley, looking at Harry with the mad amazement that seemed to be her default expression. Then she waved at all the Weasleys as well, one at a time. Fred and George, who seemed to think this was funny, waved back.

"Er — pleased to meet you, sir — and, er, Luna?" said Harry, and looked like he wasn't completely certain whether he meant it or not. (This was a pretty common reaction from people who met the Lovegoods for the first time.)

They'd now caught the attention of a passing Muggle guard, who came up to them and asked them (politely, you'd have to give him that much) whether there was any problem here. "Such a large group can't just stand around here," he said, "you're blocking the way for everyone."

"Oh, terribly sorry, sir," said Dad, all smiles. "We'll be moving along now."

"Hold on! That cat is not in a carrier." The guard motioned to Crookshanks, who was still sitting on Ronnie's trunk. "Where is its carrier?"

"He's very well-behaved," said Ronnie nervously. She hadn't even thought of getting a carrier for Crookshanks; not that she would have been able to afford one at any rate. "He won't run off!"

"I'm very sorry, Miss," said the guard, "but the rules about transporting animals on trains are very clear. Dogs should be on leashes, and smaller animals such as cats or birds must be carried in an enclosed basket, cage or pet carrier."

"But I don't have one!" Ronnie was about to start pleading with the Muggle, when she was interrupted by Luna, who had finished singing the school song and now instead sang in a louder voice (and in a tune she'd clearly made up on the spot):

_"Daddy, the train is leaving._  
_Daddy, the train won't wait._  
_We'd better run along now,  
_ _Or we shall all be late!"_

"Oh, dear," said Dad, glancing at the clock on the wall. They still had about ten minutes before the Hogwarts Express left, but they'd need some time to find compartments and get the luggage on board the train. "Molly, you take the children and see that they get on the train. Sir," he said, turning to the guard, "it's really quite simple. If you would allow me to explain..."

Just what sort of explanation he had for the guard, Ronnie never heard, because now Mum ushered everyone along, and they hurried along towards the platforms, Mr. Lovegood now pushing the trolley with Luna instead of pulling it along.

When they reached the barrier in between Platform Nine-and-three-quarters, they ended up having to wait a few minutes outside there because a Muggle couple was saying goodbye to one another right by the barrier, and saying their goodbyes so affectionately that even Harry was blushing (and Ronnie was internally questioning why the girl didn't seem to mind having her bum squeezed like that).

Finally, the two loving Muggles, completely oblivious to everything but one another, parted, and Mum looked at the clock. "Hurry up, now," she said. "Xeno, why don't you and Luna go first?"

"Goodbye, Muggles!" said Luna to the world at large as her father drove her and the trolley towards the brick wall - and then they vanished right through it.

"Right," said Mum. "Percy, now you go, and then Fred, and then George."

In short succession the three Weasley brothers strode briskly forward and vanished just as the Lovegoods had.

"Oh, good, here comes Arthur," said Mum as Dad came towards them from a distance. "Then I'll go through now with Ronnie, then Harry can come, and Ginny, you can go through with your father. Mind your cat now, Ronnie!"

"Hang on, Crookshanks!" said Ronnie, grabbed her trolley and rushed with it towards the barrier. She'd gone through the barrier loads of times, of course, ever since she was little and came with the family to King's Cross to see her brothers off — but it was always a  _little_ scary to rush towards a solid wall like this; she always kept half-expecting she'd crash into it. But of course she never did, and she didn't this time either; the barrier simply vanished before the trolley could make contact, and Platform Nine-and-three-quarters appeared in front of her, filled with the usual crowd of witches and wizards, owls and cats.

Crookshanks hadn't moved an inch. Now he simply turned his head to look at her, as if to say:  _I wasn't worried, were you?_

Ronnie had to move out of the way quickly, as Mum came in right after her, and they joined Fred, George, Percy and the Lovegoods right by the scarlet steam engine that waited by the tracks.

Ronnie turned to look for Harry, Ginny and Dad, but they didn't come.

"Oh, bother," Mum sighed. "They're being held up by curious Muggles, no doubt, and can't cross the barrier. I'll wait for them here and send them along, you lot find compartments in the meantime."

"I'm going to go join the other prefects," said Percy pompously.

"Hey, there's Oliver Wood!" said Fred. "C'mon, George, let's go tell him about Harry! He'll be ecstatic when he hears that we can get Cormac McLaggen replaced as a Seeker!"

"I'd better go find Neville and Hermione," said Ronnie. "Mum, can you tell Harry and Ginny that —  _ummmph!"_ She had in no way intended to say "ummmph," which as far as she knew wasn't even a word, but it was the sort of thing you said when Mum unexpectedly pulls you into an enormous hug.

"You take good care of yourself now," said Mum. "Mind your brothers, look after your sister, and  _please_ , don't go rushing off into trouble this year."

"You mean I should cancel my plans to wrestle trolls in the Forbidden Forest on Saturdays?"

_"Ronnie —!"_

"Er — Veronica, could I trouble you to look after my Luna on the train ride?" said Mr. Lovegood, coming up to them with Luna clinging to him. "It is the first time she travels this far on her own, I'd feel better if I knew she had company."

Ronnie really didn't know if she felt like it. She had looked forward to spending the train ride with Harry, Hermione and Neville, and Luna was so...  _Luna-ish._  But then, Mr. Lovegood was one of the few people still supporting Dad's Muggle-Protection Act... and Luna, despite her normal expression of amazed surprise, was clinging rather hard to her father, and was probably a lot more nervous than she was letting on.

"Yeah, all right."

So with Mum staying behind to wait for Harry and Ginny, the rest of the company went their separate ways; Percy to join the prefects, the twins to join Oliver Wood, and Ronnie to unload the luggage together with Luna and her father, and hopefully finding Hermione and Neville.

However, time was running short, and the only ones she saw that she recognised at the moment were Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, Malfoy's stooges and two-thirds of the Trolls trio. They were perhaps not on the  _very_ top of the list of people Ronnie didn't want to meet (that honour went to You-Know-Who himself), but she would rather avoid them if she could. So she found an empty compartment and, with Mr. Lovegood's help, got the luggage loaded up.

All the while looking back towards Mum to see if Harry and Ginny were arriving. But they didn't.

When the whistle sounded, marking the near-immediate departure of the train, Ronnie left Crookshanks with Luna and rushed over to Mum, who was still standing there and now looking seriously worried.

"Mum," Ronnie panted. "Something must've happened to them."

"Nonsense, dear, they're just being held up for some reason," said Mum, but she didn't look very convinced. "Get on the train!  _You're_  not going to miss it, whatever happens!"

"But Mum...!"

 _"Now,_ Veronica!" That was her 'not-to-be-argued-with' voice, and Ronnie found her legs obeying instantly without even waiting for the get-go from her brain. Before she knew it, she had run back to the train and was halfway through the door, where Crookshanks and Luna had just entered, the latter after giving her father a last goodbye-hug.

"They're not coming?" said Luna, looking wide-eyed at her.

"Doesn't look like it!"

"But they were right behind us! Maybe Wrackspurts got to them and clouded their minds so they got confused and ran in the wrong direction or —"

"Luna, I have no idea what you're talking about." Ronnie looked out the door to see Mum hurry towards the wrought-iron archway that led to the rest of King's Cross — and then she had to pull back as the door closed, almost slamming into her face.

"Are you all right, Veronica?" said Luna.

Ronnie was about to answer, when the train jolted, shook and began to move, almost causing her to lose her balance. Just barely managing to avoid falling over, she leaned against the wall and watched in dismay as Platform Nine-And-Three-Quarters rolled past, vanishing behind them and soon replaced with the houses of London, going faster and faster as the train picked up speed.

 _"Fuck,"_ she swore through clenched teeth. There went the last hope of seeing her sister and best friend boarding the train at the very last second. "What the hell do we do now?"

Luna paused for a moment. "Find a place to sit?" she suggested.

Ronnie stared at her.

Just as the silence started to get uncomfortable, Luna blinked. "Oh! That sounded a little callous, didn't it?" she said, as if she had just now figured that out. "I'm sorry, Veronica. I didn't mean to sound as if I didn't care. I only meant that there's really nothing else for us to do right now. But your Mum and my Daddy will find them, you'll see, and they'll get them to Hogwarts! They'll just miss the train ride, is all."

Ronnie sighed. "I hope you're right. Crookshanks," she said to the cat, who was sitting on the floor, "can you find Neville and Hermione?"

He looked up at her, then raised himself, stretched, and began plodding down the corridor. After he'd moved a few feet, he turned to check if she was following, just as he had done when leading her to Harry in Knockturn Alley.

Luna giggled.

"Well, it seems they're on the train, at least," said Ronnie. "He's ruddy smart, he'll find them. Come on, we'd better follow him."

"Yes, Veronica."

Ronnie paused. "You know, you can call me Ronnie. I wouldn't mind."

"Thank you for the offer," said Luna solemnly. "but I don't think I've quite earned the right yet."

"Earned the — what  _are_ you talking about?"

But Luna merely shrugged, and so Ronnie decided to let the matter drop and instead follow Crookshanks.

They followed him down the corridor, passing several compartments where students were sitting — some of them Ronnie knew, some of them she didn't know at all (probably Hufflepuffs or Ravenclaws or Slytherins in different years than hers, since she was fairly certain she knew all the Gryffindors by sight, at least).

A few compartments down, however, Crookshanks suddenly darted up towards a small moving lump there at the end of the train. As Ronnie looked further, she recognised the shape of a toad and just had time to call out: "Crookshanks, leave that toad alone!" when it dawned on her that he wasn't attacking the toad at all; he just gave it a curious sniff and then stopped by one of the compartment doors, sitting down and waiting for them to catch up.

The toad, meanwhile, hopped along the corridor, completely undisturbed by the meeting with Crookshanks, heading straight for Ronnie. And it struck her that she'd seen this particular toad before; in fact she knew it quite well.

"Hello, Trevor," she said, bending down to pick him up. "Wandered off from Neville again, have you?"

Trevor didn't answer; he just looked adoringly up at her with his big toad eyes.

It was at that precise moment that she heard a familiar voice from the compartment Crookshanks was sitting outside. "Oh no, now Trevor's gone again!"

Ronnie quickly turned to Luna and winked at her — how often do you get such a perfect set-up for a memorable entrance? — and then hurried up to the compartment so that she could enter through the half-open door and say with a casual air: "He's not as gone as you might think!"

Just as she had hoped, in the compartment were the two people she was looking for. Hermione, already in her school robes, was standing closest to the door, while by the window, just as round-faced and good-natured as she remembered, was the fourth and final member of Potter's Gang, Neville Longbottom.

"Ronnie!" he cried, raising himself from his seat. And then he had to sit down again because the train just then came to a turn that made him lose his balance. "I should have known! Trevor always knows how to find you!"

"We were getting worried," said Hermione, as Ronnie handed the toad back to Neville. "I was just going to go look for you."

"And I was going to stay here in case you showed up," said Neville. "Good to see you again, Ronnie! Thank you for Trevor too!" He placed the toad carefully on his knee, and blushed a little as Ronnie hugged him. "Where's Harry?"

"Wish I knew." Ronnie grew serious again, and was just about to tell them about the barrier and how Harry and Ginny hadn't showed up, when Luna entered the compartment, followed by a proud Crookshanks.

"Hello, Veronica's friends," said Luna, waving to them as the entered.

Neville and Hermione both looked at her with confused expressions, so Ronnie hurried to introduce: "Er, right — Neville, Hermione, this is my neighbour, Luna Lovegood. She's starting Hogwarts this year. Luna, this is Neville Longbottom, and Hermione Granger."

Luna smiled at them both, and then turned to Hermione, looking curiously at her. "You're Muggle-born," she said conversationally.

"...yes, I'm aware of that," said Hermione after a few moments' hesitation. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"Oh, no. I just wanted to say that  _I_ don't agree with the  _Daily Prophet_  when they imply that Muggles are savage brutes or that they're all to blame for how Harry Potter was treated."

"I — never said you did!" Hermione was taken aback.

"Oh, I know. I just thought that with all the Muggle-hatred going on lately, you might have heard a few wizards or witches say such things, and maybe it would cheer you up to learn that not everyone agrees." Luna smiled, and it was a genuine smile.

Hermione opened and closed her mouth a few times, and then apparently gave up on answering, because she turned to Ronnie instead.  _"Where's Harry?"_

"Dunno," said Ronnie, feeling the worry enter her again. "He and Ginny never made it through the barrier, so they missed the train. I don't know what happened to them — hang on, what's this?" She'd just noticed something outside the window — a snowy white owl, flying beside the train and doing an impressive job at keeping up with it.

It was Hedwig.

Neville, who was closest to the window, opened it as far as he could, making an opening just big enough that Hedwig could fly in through it. Which she did, with such speed that she collided with Neville, sending Trevor hopping to the floor and almost causing Ronnie to lose her balance and fall back. However, after a few seconds of feathery white chaos, the owl regained control over herself and flapped her wings to land and perch on one of the armrests, ignoring the amused look Crookshanks sent her and trying to look as if that undignified entrance hadn't happened at all - not at all helped by the fact that Luna was giggling again.

"Are you all right?" the blonde girl managed to say in between bursts of giggles.

Ronnie sat down by the owl to check if she was hurt, but Hedwig seemed fine. And she had a letter tied to her leg, which Ronnie saw was for her.

Everyone gathered around as she rolled out the small piece of parchment, and read:

_Ronnie,_

_Sending Hedwig to catch up with you. If you get this letter, can you please keep her with you for the ride?_

_Ginny and I are fine, but we couldn't get onto Platform 9 3/4. For some reason, the barrier wouldn't let us through. But your parents and Mr. Lovegood are working on another way to get us to Hogwarts, so we'll see you there. Say hello to Hermione and Neville for me._

_Harry._

 

They looked at one another. "The barrier wouldn't let them through?" said Neville. "Never heard of anything like that happening before!"

"Just because something has never happened before, it doesn't mean it can't ever happen," said Luna sagely. "Nobody's ever caught a Crumple-Horned Snorkack before, but that doesn't mean someone won't eventually manage."

"What's a Crumple-Horned —" Neville began.

"This is ridiculous!" Hermione snapped. "It's obvious what happened: Someone must have tampered with the barrier!"

"Are you sure?" said Ronnie.

"It's either that, or the barrier malfunctioned on its own," said Hermione, "and according to  _Hogwarts: a History,_ that barrier has never even once malfunctioned since it was first raised."

 _"Hogwarts: a History_ doesn't say anything about there being Nargles at the school either," said Luna, "but there are."

For a moment, Hermione was dumbstruck again, clearly torn between amazement of having found someone else who had actually read  _Hogwarts: a History_  and exasperation at such a ridiculous statement. She settled for: "No, there aren't!"

"Yes, there are! Daddy told me all about them!"

Neville, who was probably worried this difference of opinion might evolve into a fight, hurried to ask: "So, Luna, what house do you think you'll be in?"

Luna turned to look at him, as if seeing him for the first time. "I don't know," she said. "Daddy and Mummy were both Ravenclaws, but Daddy says that I shouldn't be bound by tradition and that I should be in the house that suits  _me._  What house do  _you_ think I'll be in?"

Neville blushed. "I — couldn't say," he murmured. "I hardly know you."

"That's a very interesting colour you just turned," Luna observed. "Red for Gryffindor, isn't it?"

"Well, now, that explains a lot," came a very unwanted and extremely unwelcome voice from the doorway — and yes, of course, there came Draco Malfoy, dressed up in his best school robes and flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Great," said Ronnie, turning on them, "the Trolls have arrived!"

Malfoy ignored the use of their disliked collective nickname and went on: "I always wondered what a sniveling coward like Longbottom did in Gryffindor. Turns out he just matches the house colours."

Ronnie turned on him. "If you don't get out of here right now, Malfoy, I'll make  _you_ match  _your_ house colours! You'd be amazed at how green someone's face can get after they've been kicked in the balls!"

Malfoy, however, wasn't intimidated. Of course not, he was with his bodyguards. "Well, thank God that you said that, Weasley, I thought you were planning to kiss me — that'd make anyone turn green. So, where's Potter? Finally got fed up with all of you? Or did the big, bad Muggles get to him?"

Crabbe and Goyle both grunted with what was probably supposed to be laughter, and then entered the compartment to stand menacingly next to Malfoy. Neville got to his feet and joined Hermione to stand by Ronnie, Crookshanks began growling from the seat he'd occupied, and Hedwig ruffled her feathers in an annoyed way.

Luna, however, looked at Malfoy with her huge grey eyes and smiled. "It's so nice of you to be concerned for Harry," she said. "But I can assure you that Muggles aren't monsters at all. You don't have to be afraid of them."

Just like Hermione had, Malfoy opened and closed his mouth a few times before managing to think up an answer. "Afraid? Me? Of such sub-human filth?"

"Daddy says that people often mock or react with hatred towards things they fear," said Luna serenely. "But I'm certain you're really a very nice person."

"I'm certain you're a complete loony!" Malfoy countered. "Let me guess, you  _must_ be a Hufflepuff."

"I must?" Luna blinked in surprise. "Oh, I was just wondering what I'd be! Thank you ever so much! Neville didn't know, but you did! Are you a Hufflepuff too?"

Malfoy sputtered — he actually _sputtered_ — in indignation. "Do I look like a Huf—" he began, but then apparently changed his mind, maybe out of fear that she'd answer yes. "Do you have even the  _faintest_ idea who I am?"

Luna shook her head. "No, but I've always heard that Hufflepuffs were supposed to be kind and helpful. I'm so glad to find out that's true! Oooh, now you're turning the same interesting colour as Neville did!"

It was then Malfoy must have decided to retreat with what little dignity he had left. "Crabbe, Goyle," he said. "Let's get out of here, this compartment's infested with lunatics. Potter's not here, anyway."

It was Neville who first started laughing after the Trolls had marched out of the compartment, and one by one the others joined in as well. Even Hermione was looking at Luna with considerably more goodwill than before.

"Too bad Harry's not here," Ronnie giggled. "He would have loved that."

"D'you think he and Ginny will get to Hogwarts all right?" said Neville, worried as always.

"Of course they will. Mum and Dad'll take care of everything," said Ronnie as she sat town on the seat next to the one occupied by Crookshanks, who immediately jumped up in her lap and started to purr. Hedwig perched on the armrest, looking very pleased when Ronnie carefully stroked her feathers with a finger. "I don't suppose you want to tell us the news you had in the meantime?"

"News?" Neville had returned to his seat and picked up Trevor. "Oh — yeah, the news for Harry, the ones I wrote in the letters he didn't get. Those news. I don't know, Ronnie, it seems a little wrong to tell you without Harry here..." It was easy to see, however, that he really wanted to — it must have been hard to wait for so long to share.

"If it's a secret," said Luna, who had sat down by the window, "then I shouldn't hear it. If you want to tell Veronica, though, I can take a nap." She smiled, leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. "You can talk all you want when... I'm... sleeping..." her voice trailed off.

"Er, no, that's not —" said Neville, and stopped, because Luna had slumped and was already breathing slowly. "—necessary?" he finished feebly.

"She can't be asleep already," said Hermione, leaning closer to Luna. "It's not humanly possible to — my goodness, she  _is_ asleep! Just like that!" She turned to Ronnie, a mixture of disbelief, fascination and annoyance on her face. "Who  _is_ this girl?"

Ronnie could only shrug helplessly. "My neighbour," she said. "She lives with her Dad just outside Ottery st Catchpole, not too far from the Burrow. They're... kinda weird."

"I figured that, thank you!"

"Yeah, but they've grown weirder after Luna's Mum died two years ago." Ronnie felt a little awkward talking about this, but figured Hermione wouldn't be satisfied until she got an explanation. "Dunno exactly what happened, cause nobody would tell me, but I think it was some kind of accident and Luna saw it."

"That's horrible," said Neville.

Ronnie nodded. "Ginny and I went over to her house a few times after the funeral, but she just kept talking about all these strange creatures that nobody's ever heard of, going on about conspiracies and stuff, acting if she could see and hear things we couldn't. Maybe she can. I dunno. But I think she creeped Ginny out."

"She didn't creep  _you_ out?" Hermione quirked a brow.

Ronnie shrugged again. There were definite reasons why Luna Lovegood had never been a frequent guest at the Burrow, even if she lived so close by — and it wasn't  _all_ because Mum disapproved of  _The Quibbler._  There was something slightly unnerving about Luna; maybe her semi-permanent look of mad amazement, maybe her odd way of talking, maybe the way she didn't always seem to be all there... or possibly the sneaking suspicion that maybe she in fact was more there than anyone else. Of course, Luna didn't have a very easy life and Ronnie felt sorry for the girl, but hadn't always been sure she  _liked_ her.

Then again, anyone who could so effortlessly weird out Draco Malfoy couldn't be all bad.

But perhaps this wasn't quite the time to focus on Luna, not when there were other things to focus on. "Did you want to tell us about the news for Harry, Neville?" Ronnie turned away from the sleeping girl and looked expectantly at him.

"I think Harry should be the first to hear it," said Hermione, though she looked about as curious as Ronnie felt.

"Probably," Neville sighed. "I've been looking forward to telling him, and probably we won't have time at the welcoming feast, with several other things going on, and the Sorting, and all. I suppose I can tell him afterwards, in our dorm room..."

"But then  _we_ won't get to hear it!" said Ronnie.

"It's none of our business, really," said Hermione. "You're far too nosy for your own good, Veronica."

"I'm not nosy, I'm curious!"

Neville took a deep breath. "I've been writing letters to Remus Lupin!"

Hermione and Neville turned to look at him. "Who's Remus Lupin?" said Ronnie.

"One of Harry's Dad's old friends. Remember, how Harry told us he'd found out they were a gang of four? I asked if he wanted me to find out if any of them were left, and before we left Hogwarts for Summer he said yes. Turned out Gran knew them... my parents went to Hogwarts at the same time as them, after all."

"So at least one of them is still alive," said Hermione, who seemed to have suddenly forgotten her reluctance to know this in advance.

"Two of them, actually." Neville grimaced. "The other one, Sirius Black, went to the Dark side and joined You-Know-Who. He's in Azkaban now. Killed thirteen people with one curse."

Ronnie felt as if someone had punched her. It was strange, really — she didn't know this Sirius Black, and had never met Harry's Dad, but still... she'd really always thought of people who joined the Dark side as, well, like the Malfoys; obviously evil from the first start. If this Mr. Black had been friends with Harry's Dad, he must have seemed like a decent bloke, mustn't he?

A decent bloke who happened to be a mass-murderer.

Suddenly, old Mad-Eye Moody and his constant paranoia didn't seem so funny.

"What about the final one?" said Hermione in a small voice.

"His name was Peter... Peter something," said Neville. "Don't remember his last name, sorry. He's dead too, that's all I found out. Mr. Lupin didn't really want to talk about him, or about Sirius Black, in the letters he sent."

"Don't blame him," Ronnie muttered.

"No, we really can't," said Neville. Then he brightened a little. "Mr. Lupin seems all right, though. Said he'd been thinking a lot about Harry and would be happy to tell him about his parents if he wanted."

"Harry would like that," said Ronnie with absolute certainty. "You should tell him as soon as we meet him."

As Luna slept on, they talked a little more. Neville didn't really have many other things to tell from his Summer holiday, as a good part of it had been spent with that dreadful cold (Hermione's Muggle remedies hadn't really helped either), but he had managed very well in the family greenhouse — no wonder, because Neville had a true passion for plants, and while he was generally not very good with schoolwork, he was the undisputed top of the class when it came to Herbology.

Hermione talked a bit about her Summer in the Muggle world, though she didn't really go into as much detail as Ronnie and Neville wanted. In fact, she seemed a little uneasy about it — and finally, she looked down and admitted: "My parents didn't want to let me go back to Hogwarts this year."

"What?" Neville and Ronnie chorused. "Why?"

"Partly it was the hatred," said Hermione miserably. "You remember that man who started yelling at them at Gringotts, Ronnie? Well, what we didn't tell you then was that he wasn't the first. A lot of people had been glaring and making nasty comments about my parents before that."

"I'm gonna  _kill_ everyone in the  _Daily Prophet!"_  Ronnie growled. "Starting with that Rita Skeeter!"

"And partly," Hermione continued, "it was your Dad."

Ronnie felt her jaw drop.

"I mean, he was very polite and friendly to them and they liked him," said Hermione hurriedly, "but he told them about what had happened last year! You know, with Voldemort and all that? He — he didn't know I hadn't told them already... They were very upset with me for keeping it a secret. They said they weren't sure the wizarding world was good for me. A bad influence, they said, and dangerous."

Ronnie had found her voice again. "But they did let you return."

"Eventually," said Hermione. "But they said if anything more happened this year..." she trailed off.

"Want my parents to talk to them?" said Ronnie.

"I'm not sure. Maybe."

"Well," Ronnie said, trying to sound cheerful, "They'll come around. I'm sure nothing bad's gonna happen this year."

The words had barely left her lips when she feverishly wished she hadn't said them. Using such words was the same as inviting a whole lot of bad things to happen.

 

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a lot of fanfics have portrayed Luna and Ginny as having been good friends before Hogwarts, but while this makes a great deal of sense given how close they live and how well they seem to get along in the books, that doesn't quite seem to be the case when reading the novels - then Harry would have met Luna at some point while staying at the Weasleys.
> 
> So my take on it is that the Lovegoods were sort of "friends of the family" but Ginny and Luna weren't close, because Ginny couldn't quite handle Luna's oddness. As Ginny matured she began appreciating Luna more, and around their fourth year was when they really became friends. In the Weasley Girl universe, the same thing happened; Ronnie and Ginny did try to reach out to Luna out of pity a few times after her mother died, but they weren't friends. Luna, of course, realises this, which is why she still calls Ronnie "Veronica."


	6. New Students, New Teachers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Six is here! I've been wanting to write a song for the Sorting Hat for ages, and since canon never actually included the song for Harry's second year, now was my chance. Hope I managed to capture the tone and feel of the Hat songs without completely rehashing the canon ones.

Someone or something was prodding her face...

Ronnie opened her eyes and looked into the orange face of Crookshanks, who was standing on her lap and poking her face with his paw. He looked oddly dishevelled, with his fur more rumpled and mangy than usual, as if he had been in a fight of some kind.

"Okay, okay, I'm up," she murmured, grunting and stretching herself. She felt slightly icky after having slept in her clothes and in a less-than-comfortable train seat...

...wait. She didn't remember going to sleep.

Looking out of the window, she saw that it was dark outside, which it definitely hadn't been the last time she checked. The compartment was eerily quiet, which wasn't such a surprise considering that Luna, Neville and Hermione were all asleep as well. Luna hadn't moved at all since she'd closed her eyes earlier, and Neville and Hermione were slumped against one another, breathing softly.

The animals were awake, however; Trevor had hopped up on the seat beside Ronnie, and Hedwig was perched on the armrest and peering at Ronnie. Like Crookshanks, she looked a little dishevelled, but none the worse for wear.

"What happened with you two?" said Ronnie. "Did you have a fight or something?"

Owl and cat both stared at her, and she got the odd feeling that they thought she'd said something phenomenally stupid.

Just then, however, a voice called out:  _"We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."_

That gave her a start. She'd slept through nearly the entire train ride! Hurriedly lifting Crookshanks off her, she raised herself to nudge Hermione and Neville. "Hey! Wake up! We're almost there!"

They both sighed and grunted sleepily as they woke up — and then they realised they were leaning against one another, whereupon they hurriedly pulled apart, Neville blushing furiously.

"I... suppose we must have fallen asleep," Hermione murmured. "Bother." She blinked and looked at Ronnie. "Haven't you better get into your school robes right away?"

"School —" Ronnie realised she was still wearing her Muggle shirt and jeans. "Bugger! Robes, where are my robes? Luna — Luna, wake up!"

Luna, still wearing that very loud purple dress and not at all in her school robes, shifted in her sleep and murmured softly: "Don't be silly... it's just a Blibbering Humdinger trying to trick you."

Whatever she was dreaming about, Ronnie didn't know, but it was probably something weird and Luna-ish. There wasn't time for dreams now, though, so Ronnie gently shook her. "Come on, Luna, time to leave the Humming Bliggerdings behind and change into your robes!"

Luna yawned, opening her eyes and looking at Ronnie. "Robes?" she said sleepily.

"Yes, robes! You did pack your school robes, didn't you?"

Luna blinked a couple of times, focus returning to her eyes. "Yes, they're in my trunk," she said. "Underneath all my other things."

"Underneath —" Ronnie groaned. "Luna, it's only a couple of minutes until we reach the station! We don't have time to dig out your robes now!"

Hemione, ever the practical one, had opened Ronnie's trunk with a well-placed  _Alohamora_ and pulled out a pair of black robes, which she carried over to Ronnie. "We don't have time to delay any more either," she said. "Here are your robes, Ronnie, just put them on over your clothes like you did last year. Luna, here, Ronnie will lend you one of her spares."

"Oh, she will, will she?" said Ronnie sarcastically - but then changed her mind. In her own bossy way Hermione was right; Luna needed robes and they had no time to open any more trunks to find anyone else's. "All right, yeah. Thanks, Hermione."

Of course, Ronnie's robes were much too big for Luna, even if she were putting them on over her loud purple dress, and she had to lift them up so they wouldn't drag against the ground when she walked. But at least it was better than arriving at Hogwarts with no robes at all.

"Better hurry," said Neville nervously, staring out of the window. "Here comes the station."

Ronnie pulled her own robes over her head. No time to make herself look smart, she'd just have to make do with - she stiffened. Her hand had brushed against her hip and felt something horrible. Or rather, it was the lack of something that was horrible:  _She was supposed to have felt the hard contours of Tom Riddle's diary in her pocket, but she hadn't._

Feeling a surge of panic, she patted her pockets on both sides.  _No diary._

But - it had been there before! She'd had it before she fell asleep! Hadn't she?!

She barely noticed that the train come to a halt. She began searching her robe pockets as well, even though the diary couldn't possibly be in them, as she looked down on the floor to see if she could see the little book lying there. But no. She dropped to her knees and began looking in under the seats. Maybe it had fallen down, somehow, while she slept —

"Ronnie?" Neville's voice sounded concerned.

"The diary!" Ronnie swallowed several times to bite back the urge to scream and cry.

"I didn't know you kept a diary." said Neville.

"I don't! Crookshanks!" Ronnie squeaked, turning to her cat, who was still on the seat next to her. "Dear Crookshanks! Please, please,  _please_ find the diary for me!"

Crookshanks gave her a look that better than words said:  _Are you_ _ **joking**_ _?_ And then, to demonstrate that he had no intention of looking for any diaries he sat down on his haunches and began nonchalantly licking his paw.

Ronnie was about to start pleading, but she saw that it wouldn't have any effect. Cats could be infuriatingly stubborn, and — come to think of it, maybe Kneazles could only find lost people or places, not objects.

"Ronnie, what is going on?" Hermione snapped. "The train's stopped, we have to get off!"

Finally, with a sinking feeling in her heart but realising that there wasn't much she could do, Ronnie let herself be talked into leaving the compartment with the others. Leaving the luggage behind, but Hedwig flapped up to perch on her shoulder and Crookshanks was following her closely, even as she left the train, following Hermione.

Outside it was cold and dark; quite a difference from the warm, cosy train - and students were milling about on the platform, and the cry of  _"Firs' years! — Firs' years over here!"_  from up front signalled that Hagrid was there, ready to take the first-years to Hogwarts via the "scenic route," i.e. a boat trip over the lake. Ronnie remembered her first year and the spectacular view of the castle as it showed up, but had no idea how second-years and beyond got to the school.

But then, out of the crowd came Harry and Ginny, and Ronnie's worry over the diary was momentarily replaced by relief that her sister and best friend were here and safe.

"Harry! Ginny!" She flung herself against the two and pulled them both into the tightest hug she could, causing Hedwig to flap her wings on her shoulder to keep balance. "You made it!"

"Hi, Ronnie — Hi, Hedwig — Hi, Hermione, Neville, great to see you again!" said Harry. "Yeah, we took something called the Knight Bus. Worst trip I ever had. Don't know  _where_ the driver got his certificate, but whoever told him he was good to go out in traffic ought to be locked up."

"I liked it!" said Ginny, and then pulled Ronnie close to whisper to her. "Harry fell against me three times and I didn't lose my voice  _even once!"_

"Nice!" said Ronnie, grinning — good to know that all that time she'd spent working on Ginny's crippling shyness around Harry hadn't been wasted — but then she remembered the seriousness of the situation. "Ginny, Tom Riddle's diary is gone!"

"What?!" Ginny hissed, forgetting her pride. "But you had it! I saw you put it in your pocket!"

"I know, but I fell asleep on the train, and when I woke up —" Ronnie felt her heart almost stop beating as the realisation hit her like a bucket of cold water.  _"Fuck!_ "

"Language, Ronnie!" Hermione scolded, pulling back from the hug she was giving Harry.

Ronnie ignored this. "Someone must've come into our compartment while we slept and  _stolen_ it!" She felt her skin crawl, and her thoughts went almost immediately to the Trolls. They'd been in the compartment. Had they noticed something and somehow cast a spell so everyone fell asleep, and then sneaked in to steal the diary? The thought of Malfoy - or worse, Crabbe or Goyle - rummaging through her pockets while she was asleep and unable to defend herself made her feel nauseous.

Harry, Neville, Hermione and Luna were watching her in confusion and concern.

"What  _are_ you talking about?" said Harry...

...and Ronnie suddenly wished that she and Ginny had told him about the diary from the start. Why  _hadn't_ they told him? Some weird sense that she was protecting him against unknown dangers that Tom Riddle represented? How stupid was it possible to get?

"It's — a diary that — I have to talk to Dumbledore!" she sputtered.

It was then Neville stepped up and gently but firmly grabbed her shoulder. "Ronnie. Breathe."

She did, taking several deep breaths. The strange part was that she did feel a little calmer. She had no idea why Neville, of all people, was suddenly a calming presence, but he did seem to be.

"Is it a matter of life or death?" said Neville, sounding as though he was perfectly ready to believe that it might be.

"I — don't think so."

"Then talk to Dumbledore after the welcoming feast. He'll be busy right now, but after the feast he'll probably be able to make time."

Ronnie nodded, reluctantly. Neville was right, of course he was right. If someone had stolen the diary, there was nothing she could do about it this very minute, and besides it would probably take at least some time for Tom to start trusting someone new with those "powerful secrets" he'd kept hinting at? Right?

 

* * *

 

 

The Great Hall was just as grand as Ronnie remembered it from last year, and the tables just as filled with the low buzz of "conversing" students, as everyone was waiting for the first-years to arrive. Ronnie was at the Gryffindor table together with the rest of Potter's Gang (Hermione sitting next to her and Harry and Neville sitting opposite them), and her brothers close by, and a number of old familiar Gryffindors were all around them, joking and laughing - and quite a few, especially the girls, were casting glances over at the staff table where the teachers sat, looking at one man in particular.

Gilderoy Lockhart was sitting next to Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy teacher, who seemed to be uncharacteristically giggly as he talked to her. Occasionally he'd look over at the students and flash one of his brilliant smiles to them, wich caused quite a few sighs and blushed cheeks. Even Hermione was blushing furiously after Lockhart had smiled at her, though Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil (who were sitting close to Hermione) were giggling because they were insisting he'd smiled at  _them_.

If the case with the lost diary hadn't already ruined Ronnie's appetite for the upcoming feast, this most definitely would have. Was she the only girl in the entire world who didn't spend her time swooning or blushing or giggling over some bloke or other?

More interesting, in Ronnie's opinion, was the other new face at the high table, who was sitting next to, and chatting animatedly with, Dumbledore. He was an old man, at least his hair and beard were white, but there was something handsome and, well, slightly prissy about him all the same. Not like Lockhart, who seemed to be going for a perfect appearance, but this man did have a very well-groomed beard and was wearing rather striking green robes with gold embroideries. This had to be the new Potions master, since Snape had resigned from that position last year.

"Who d'you suppose that is?" said Neville, who had also noticed the man.

"A friend of Dumbledore's, I think," said Harry. "Hagrid said something about it when Ginny and I arrived, but he didn't say his name."

"He looks more pleasant than Snape, at any rate," said Ronnie, and would have gone on to say more, but just then the doors opened, and silence fell as Professor McGonagall entered, followed by a long line of children. The first-years had arrived.

Ronnie didn't know any of the new kids, except of course for Ginny and Luna who were last in the line - Luna having to hitch up her much-too-large borrowed robes in order to avoid tripping on them. This earned her a few giggles and a few looks of pity from the tables around, but she didn't seem to notice.

The first-years were led to the top of the Hall where they were placed in a line to face the rest of the students, nervousness and excitement etched on their faces in roughly equal measures. Ginny looked like she felt like vomiting (probably nervous that she wouldn't get into Gryffindor) and Luna stared at everyone with her usual mad amazement.

Now, Professor McGonagall had placed a three-legged stool in front of the first-years, upon which she placed an old, torn and dirty pointed wizard hat. Everyone in the hall except for the first-years knew this hat, which was why nobody except the first-years were at all surprised when a long tear around its brim opened like a mouth, and the hat began to sing:

 

 _You may think I look ugly,_  
_But consider, if you would;_  
_When you're a thousand years old,_  
_You won't look half as good!_

 _I've been a part of Hogwarts school_  
_Since it was almost new,_  
_And then, as now, my task has been_  
_To sort out all of you._

 _The greatest wizards of our time,_  
_The humble and the small;_  
_The thing they have in common is_  
_That I have known them all!_  
  
_I peeked inside their heads_  
_And I saw what was on their mind,_  
_And which of our four houses_  
_That to them had been assigned:_

 _To Gryffindor, I sent_  
_The daring, chivalrous and brave,_  
_For strength of heart and nerve_  
_Is what a Gryffindor will crave._  
  
_To Slytherin, the cunning_  
_And determined would depart,_  
_Where drive and great ambition_  
_Would help them get their start,_  
  
_To Ravenclaw, the thinkers,_  
_And those set out to learn,_  
_To whom the greatest treasure was_  
_The knowledge they would earn._  
  
_And then to kindly Hufflepuff,_  
_The rest would find their way,_  
_Where loyalty and patient toil_  
_Would always win the day._

 _And now the turn has come to you_  
_To step up to the floor,_  
_And follow in the footsteps_  
_Of all those who went before._

 _Just put me on your head,_  
_And I will have a look at you;_  
_Perhaps you'll learn some things_  
_About yourself you never knew._

 _There isn't much I haven't seen_  
_In minds of days gone by,_  
_(But I've been sworn to secrecy,_  
_So please don't try to pry)._  
  
_Together you and I will find out_  
_Just where you belong!_  
_And with those words, my friends,_  
_I've reached the ending of my song!_

 

The Great Hall burst into applause.

"Not a bad song this year," said Percy. "I was hoping for one that was more about the four Founders, though, those are always fascinating."

"You mean the Hat sings a different song each year?" said Harry curiously.

"It's been around for more than a thousand years," said George. "It probably recycles them every fifty years or so. It's what I'd do. Who'd know?"

"The ghosts might," said Fred, motioning at the silvery, transparent forms of the Hogwarts ghosts, who were floating silently around the Hall, watching the new students with interest.

"Point," said George. "But they're probably too polite to say anything."

Professor McGonagall was now unrolling a large scroll of parchment, motioning for silence around the hall. "When I call out your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool," she told the first-years. "When the hat announces your House, you will go and sit at the appropriate table.

"Adamson, Henrietta!"

A girl with curly blonde hair stepped out of the line and nervously approached the stool, picked up the Sorting Hat as if she was afraid it would burn her fingers, and then sat down, quickly placing the Hat on her head.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the Hat called out, and Adamson, Henrietta almost flung it off herself to run up to the table where the Hufflepuffs were applauding her.

"Baker, William!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Blishwick, Anella!"  
  
"SLYTHERIN!"

The first Gryffindor to be sorted was "Creevey, Colin," a tiny little chap who looked like he was about to burst with excitement at any time, and who upon running up to the Gryffindor table, greeted everyone with: "Is Harry Potter here? You're Harry Potter? Hi, Harry, I'm Colin Creevey, I'm Muggle-born, but they told me so much about you — can I see your scar? Can I take a picture of you later to show my brother back home?"

He would probably have gone on like this for some time before a stern "Hrm!" from Professor McGonagall made him understand that this was probably not the best time, and hurriedly sit down so that the next person, "Cutress, Charles," could be sorted without disturbance.

The Sorting went on, and students went to all the four tables, each one being applauded by whichever house they were sorted into, and then —

"Lovegood, Luna!"

Luna almost tripped on her robes as she stepped up to the chair and looked at the crowd with her large grey eyes. Ronnie wondered if she was more nervous about the crowd or about being sorted — and then Luna turned her head towards the teacher's table and said, in a clear voice: "Professor Dumbledore, Veronica Weasley would like to talk to you about a diary."

The Great Hall exploded into laughter, and Ronnie felt herself turning pink as she hid her face in her hands to escape the many eyes turned towards her. Yes, she wanted to talk to Dumbledore, but...!

The Headmaster's voice was kindly as he said: "Thank you, Miss Lovegood, I'll be delighted to talk to Veronica Weasley later on. But this is  _your_ moment. Put the Hat on, if you would be so kind."

Luna obeyed, putting the hat on without sitting down onto the stool. And remained standing as there was a long silence.

"Think she's a Hatstall?" Parvati whispered.

"What's a Hatstall?" said Harry in a low voice.

"Someone so difficult to place that the Hat spends more than five minutes on them," Parvati explained. "Professor McGonagall was one, back in the day, didn't you know? The Hat spent  _ages_ deciding whether she was a Gryffindor or a Ravenclaw!"

"Oh." Harry, Neville and Hermione had understanding look on their faces. No wonder, Ronnie thought, because all of them had been near-Hatstalls themselves. Hermione had been under the Hat for nearly four minutes, and Harry and Neville for almost as long. Out of Potter's Gang, only Ronnie seemed to have caused no doubt whatsoever in the Hat; it had declared her a Gryffindor almost before she'd put it on. To this day she didn't know whether this had been a compliment or an insult.

Luna actually looked to be well on her way to becoming a Hatstall, but after about three minutes, the Hat announced: "HUFFLEPUFF!"

Whereupon Luna removed the hat and, instead of placing it back on the stool, handed it to Professor McGonagall, and with a wave to Ginny and one to Ronnie, walked off to join the somewhat-uncertainly-applauding Hufflepuffs.

"That's odd, always thought she was a sure-in for Ravenclaw," Percy muttered as the next student ("Packwood, Isabella") was called up.

"Why? You know Hufflepuff is where the oddballs end up," said Fred with a snicker.

"No,  _Ravenclaws_  are the oddballs. Hufflepuffs are the  _duffers,"_  said Lavender, and she and Parvati giggled uncontrollably all through the next two students that were sorted — especially since one of them went to Ravenclaw and the other to Hufflepuff.

Finally, as the very last student to be sorted (no first-years with surnames that began with X, Y or Z this year, apparently) McGonagall called out "Weasley, Ginevra!"

Ginny looked very alone up there as she sat down on the stool. Looking at Ronnie for the briefest of moments, she closed her eyes tightly and pulled the Hat onto her head.

Ronnie leaned forward to look. So did Fred, George and Percy. And she knew, as certainly as if she'd asked them, that they had the same intense thought running through their heads:  _Please be in Gryffindor, please be in Gryffindor..._

"GRYFFINDOR!" the Hat shouted.

The Gryffindor table burst into applause, with Weasleys and Potter's Gang clapping harder than anyone else.

"Excellent, Ginny, well done!" said Percy with his trademark pompousness as Ginny sat down with the rest of them, and Dumbledore raised himself and called for silence.

"It's tradition for the Headmaster to make a little speech before the welcoming feast," he said (and Ronnie could see a couple of the first-years stiffen, obviously preparing for a long and boring speech), "so here it is: Welcome to Hogwarts, and enjoy the feast! Thank you!" With that he sat back down, and the food appeared on the tables.

While food was always plentiful at Hogwarts, the welcoming feast was always spectacular, and it didn't seem to have got any less extravagant since last year; all kinds of delicious foods were there for the taking, there was steak and chicken and fish and lamb, potatoes of all kinds, vegetables, rice, stews and pies; no matter how picky or how allergic someone was, they'd find something to enjoy here... and Ronnie had absolutely no appetite.

While everyone else ate heartily, she just picked at her food. The excitement about the Sorting over and done with, the thoughts about the diary were back, and the disgusting thought that someone might have been rummaging through her pockets while she was asleep. She couldn't quite put into words why this made her feel so awful, but it was just...  _ugh._ In fact, the only thing she could think of that made her feel worse was —

 _No!_ she scolded herself.  _Not the Imperius! I'm feeling lousy enough if I'm not gonna start thinking about that as well!_

To her annoyance, everyone around her were looking at her with concern.

"What?!" she finally snapped.

"You're not eating," said George, looking at her, worry for once not hidden behind a ton of jokes. "You feeling well?"

She felt all the worried eyes on her. Not only Percy, Fred and George, not only Harry, Hermione and Neville, but even her fellow second-year Gryffindors; Lavender and Parvati next to her, and even Fay Dunbar, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan from slightly further down the table.

For some reason the concern, on top of everything else made her blood boil. "What a shock!" she snarled. "Veronica Weasley, not eating! Obviously she must be sick, because God knows she  _always_ stuffs her face at  _every_ meal...!"

"But you  _do_ stuff your face at every meal," said Seamus with characteristic tactlessness, only to be slapped by Fay.

"Blimey!" Fred looked shocked. "You haven't decided to get all  _girly_ about it and go on a diet you obviously don't need, are you?"

"Is this about that diary thing that weird girl talked about?" said Fay, ignoring the fact that Seamus was glaring at her.

"Leave her alone!" snapped Ginny, the only one who  _hadn't_  been looking at Ronnie with concern.

"I'll eat, I'll eat!" Ronnie shouted., beginning to help herself to all the different foods she really didn't want, to make a huge pile on her plate. "I'll eat double helpings since you obviously all get off on watching me shove food into my mouth! Happy now?"

But then she felt bad, especially when seeing the hurt looks all around. They were just worried about her, after all, and they didn't know what had happened. She wanted to tell them everything, about the diary and about... well, everything. But... no. She couldn't, not now.

"Look, I'm sorry," she said in a softer voice. "It's just... complicated. I'm fine, really, I just —" And then she noticed that a note had appeared on the table next to her. Grabbing it, she turned it around to see one short sentence written down on it, in a neat but extravagant handwriting:

 _The password to my office is 'Liquorice Wand.'_ _-A.D._

She curled the note up in her hand and felt a strange sense of relief, and curiously enough a sense of gratitude towards Luna, who was sitting at the Hufflepuff table. Dumbledore knew she wanted to talk to him, and was apparently taking it seriously. He'd know what to do.

"Right," she announced to the table at large. "After the feast I'm going to go talk to the Headmaster about diaries!"

A few of the Gryffindors laughed, some of them just looked puzzled.

"Want us to come too?" said Harry. Both he, Hermione and Neville were looking at her with a mix of worry, expectancy and curiosity.

She wanted to say yes. It would be a great comfort to have the rest of Potter's Gang there. But she shook her head. "Better not," she sighed. "Besides, Neville, you've got some stuff to tell Harry, right?"

"Oh - oh, yeah!" said Neville, who seemed to have genuinely forgotten about this in the middle of everything else.

"But maybe Ginny should —" Ronnie began.

"He invited you, not me," said Ginny, and Ronnie knew that there was no arguing with her.

As the meal finished, and the remainders of the puddings and cakes faded from the tables and plates, leaving them sparkling once more (Colin Creevey, who had spent the entire meal chattering non-stop and hardly ever eating for excitement, squeaked in delight and at once asked if he'd learn to do something like that because "I'm always stuck doing the washing-up at home!") Dumbledore raised himself again and called for silence.

"So!" he said. "I hope you've all enjoyed our feast, and I won't keep you long from your dormitories —" (there was some scattered applause and laughter at this) "— but I do have a couple of notices for the year.

"The Forbidden Forest is out of grounds for all students, as is the village of Hogsmeade for those below third year. Our caretaker Mr. Filch would like to remind you all that magic in the corridors is prohibited, as is any item on the list he has in his office. I believe that list numbers about four hundred items now, and any student who wishes to read it for themselves are welcome to do so."

Filch, who was sitting at the edge of the staff table, scowled.

"Also, I would like to officially announce a few staff changes this year," Dumbledore went on. "Since our old Head of Slytherin, Severus Snape, has now officially resigned —" (A huge number of Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws applauded, though the Slytherin table did not join in) "— the new Head of House is our eminent Astronomy teacher, Aurora Sinistra. Any Slytherins who have problems, questions or complaints are encouraged to come to her."

Professor Sinistra gave the students a curt nod. Ronnie hadn't even known the woman was a Slytherin; she'd been stern and strict but not unfair, not the way Snape had been.

"And of course, it gives me great pleasure to welcome our two new teachers," said Dumbledore. "First out is our new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher, Gilderoy Lockhart."

The Great Hall formally exploded in applause, cries of delight (and even a few wolf-whistles, one of them not surprisingly coming from Lavender) as Lockhart rose from his seat and bowed elegantly, all the while smiling with his perfect teeth, clearly enjoying the applause.

"And last, but certainly not least," said Dumbledore as the applause finally died down, "our new Potions master, Nicolas Flamel!"

The old man in the green robes smiled at the students. He didn't get half the amount of applause that Lockhart had, but there were a few gasps and murmurs from some of the students — including Hermione, who grabbed Ronnie's shoulder tightly.

"What?" said Ronnie.

"Nicolas Flamel!" said Hermione. "You don't know who he _is?!_ He's the friend Dumbledore told us about last year! The creator of the Philosopher's Stone! He's over six hundred years old!"

"So.. it was  _his_ Stone we protected from You-Know-Who?" said Ronnie, looking at the old man again. He certainly didn't look six hundred years old; if anything he looked slightly younger than Dumbledore.

"It must have been. There is only one Philosopher's Stone in existence, remember? Imagine,  _Nicolas Flamel..."_  Hermione sounded awed, though luckily not in the same way she had when speaking about Gilderoy Lockhart. "He's the greatest alchemist of all time, and six hundred years old. He must be an absolute  _marvel_ at Potions!"

 

* * *

 

 

After the announcements were over, and Percy had gone off to guide the first-years to Gryffindor tower, and Hermione had promised to make certain that Crookshanks had made it safely to Gryffindor tower together with the other pet cats, Ronnie made her solitary way up to the third floor and the stone gargoyle that she knew hid the entrance to the Headmaster's office.

"Liquorice Wand," she said to the gargoyle, which immediately moved aside as the wall behind it split in two and revealed the moving spiral staircase that led to the Headmaster's office.

She stepped onto the rotating staircase and let it carry her all the way to the top, where the familiar oak door with the brass door knocker was waiting for her.

She lifted her hand to knock when she realised voices were sounding from behind the door - one of them very clearly being Dumbledore's, the other one a voice she didn't know.

"— must admit I am rather concerned," Dumbledore was saying. "I still haven't been able to find any plausible reason why the barrier closed for Harry. There was no sign that the magic had faltered. For some reason, someone did not want him on the train. The only question is  _why_..."

"Perhaps they wanted to hinder him entering Hogwarts at all?" said the other voice, which Ronnie thought had a very slight accent... French, maybe?

"Perhaps," said Dumbledore. "But they must have known there were other ways for him to get here. The Knight Bus remained unhindered. I would have suspected Voldemort, but he fled the country after the confrontation last Christmas. Sources tell me he is currently in Albania."

"There are ways of influencing events even when you yourself are far away," said the other voice. "And as you say, the boy now lacks the protection of living with the sister of his mother. While Voldemort is still weak, the boy is also more vulnerable than he might have been. It was a pity you could not have made certain he still lived with his relatives."

"I was too late," said Dumbledore simply. "The protection was broken. Had Harry's relatives truly loved him, raised him as their own, as I hoped they would, it would have been that much stronger. As it was, Mr. Dursley's ultimatum was enough to break the spells beyond any repair." There was a short pause before he continued: "I can't blame Harry for wanting to escape. Nor can I blame the Weasleys for wanting to help him do so. They saw a friend in great need and like the true Gryffindors they are, did all they could to help. None of them knew what danger they were putting him in."

Ronnie swallowed. What had seemed like the only thing to do back then now seemed thoughtless and short-sighted. Mum was right, she  _did_  always rush ahead without thinking. Then again... she couldn't feel too guilty for getting Harry away from those awful Muggles.

"Because you did not tell them. You did not explain to the boy how important it was that he remained with his relatives, did you?" The possibly-French voice was calm, but gently scolding. "You were hoping for family love, that we now know never existed, to be enough."

"Alas, Nicolas, you know me too well," said Dumbledore.

Nicolas? Oh, of course — Nicolas Flamel!

"I am glad you and Penerelle decided to remain among the living for a while longer," said Dumbledore. "Your advice has always helped me greatly... and I do think that, with Voldemort still out there, the world might still need you."

Nicolas Flamel was silent for a moment. Then he said: "The world will always need us. Always there will be some new catastrophe, some new evil to be defeated, some new problem that needs to be solved. When will it  _end?_  When are we allowed to rest?" His voice sounded tired. "My wife and I have lived for over six hundred and sixty years, Albus. We are both weary. More and more often we talk about finally letting ourselves die. Though," (a somewhat weary laughter) "since you have talked me into teaching Potions for you, I suppose death must wait for a while yet."

Ronnie suddenly felt guilty about standing here and eavesdropping. This was  _definitely_ something she wasn't meant to hear, something she didn't want to know. Hurriedly, before anyone could say anything more, she knocked loudly on the door to announce her presence.

"Come in!" said Dumbledore, and the door opened to reveal the organized chaos that was the Headmaster's office; a circular room where most of the available space was filled with magical devices and trinkets that nobody except Dumbledore (and possibly not even him) knew the proper use of. The parts of the walls that weren't littered with shelves, glass cases-containing-weird-objects and mystical cupboards and cabinets, were lined with portraits of all the previous Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts; all looking down at Ronnie with various levels of interest as she entered.

By the large desk sat Dumbledore, and of course Nicolas Flamel, both of them smiling to her as she came inside. Gone were the serious and concerned old men she had heard; what was left was two jovial gentlemen with warm smiles and (in Dumbledore's case) twinkles in their eyes. Ronnie hadn't thought of it before, but - what were teachers like when students couldn't see them? How much of Dumbledore's famous humour and eccentric behaviour was an act? The thought was slightly unsettling.

"Good evening, Ronnie!" said Dumbledore. "Rumour has it that you wanted to talk to me? Oh - do allow me to introduce you. Miss Veronica Weasley, this is my old friend - and your new Potions master - Nicolas Flamel."

Flamel raised himself and bowed to her.  _"Bonsoir, mademoiselle,"_  he said, and the weariness that Ronnie had heard in his voice just seconds ago had vanished completely. "Am I right when I say that you are that same, brave Veronica Weasley from the Gang of Potter? Who last year fought to protect my Philosopher's Stone from Voldemort?"

"Er — yes, sir." Ronnie felt a little awkward, partly because she had listened in, but also because Flamel seemed to share Dumbledore's lack of restraint in using You-Know-Who's name. "It was the others who fought, really, I didn't do much apart from, you know..." She trailed off. _Don't think about the Imperius._

"Nonsense! Did you not sic a three-headed dog at that monster? And stomp on his hand to stop him from picking up his wand? Modesty is a wonderful virtue,  _Mademoiselle_  Weasley, but you should accept praise, when it is freely offered."

"Right then," said Ronnie, though she didn't quite think that description of events sounded right. It made her sound so... proactive. After a moment's thought, though, she added: "Thank you?"

"So, Ronnie," said Dumbledore. "What is on your mind? Would you prefer to talk privately?"

"I don't really know." Ronnie sat down on an available chair without being invited to do so. "Professor, do you know someone named Tom Riddle?"

She hadn't expected the reaction she got. Dumbledore's eyes widened, and he pushed his half-moon spectacles further up on his hooked nose, while Flamel sat straighter up and stared at her in surprise. Even a few of the portaits were murmuring silently to each other.

"I haven't heard that name spoken in quite some time," said Dumbledore. "Where did you hear it?"

"So you know who it is?" Ronnie leaned in a little closer.

"Indeed. I know him quite well. You've met the man, in fact." Dumbledore's voice was calm as always, but there was a definite wary look in his blue eyes that might have surprised Ronnie if she hadn't heard him talking to Flamel. "Half a year ago, you and your friends stopped him from getting his hands on the Philosopher's Stone."

Ronnie's heart nearly stopped. It felt like her gut was turning into ice. Just when she'd thought it couldn't get any worse. "Wha— yuh—" she sputtered. "Y-you mean —?"

" _'Voldemort'_  was never his real name. It was a name he took when he started to gather power. I suppose he found it more intimidating than  _'Tom Riddle.'_ Very few people even remember that name now." Dumbledore looked at her seriously. "I think you had better tell me everything about how you came to hear it."

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now Tom Riddle's identity is known! ...but how much will that help, when we don't know who has the diary now?
> 
> Other notes: I know a lot of you were probably expecting to see Slughorn as the new Potions master — and originally, that was the plan, too. But then, as I was planning out this fic in a little more detail, I was thinking about Dumbledore; how he doesn't really have anyone to talk to on an equal level. He's everyone's mentor, the one everyone turns to for answers and solutions, and the few who don't (like Aberforth) have a strained relationship with him at best. He doesn't have anyone to confide in.
> 
> But maybe he used to. We just know that Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel were friends and "partners" (probably not in a sexual way, since Flamel is married), and Flamel, while apparently not quite as powerful as Dumbledore, is one of few characters much, much older than him. It sort of fit that Flamel might be the one character Dumbledore could talk to as a complete equal. And since Voldemort couldn't use the Philosopher's Stone, the incentive to destroy it wouldn't have been as strong. End of the line: Dumbledore invites him to teach Potions, letting Slughorn enjoy his retirement for a bit longer.
> 
> And yes, I made Luna a Hufflepuff, partly because I see Luna as someone who could do well in either Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff or Gryffindor (though she's too fundamentally honest and open for Slytherin) and all other fics I've read where she isn't a Ravenclaw, she's a Gryffindor. There have been enough slight changes in her life that the change was plausible. Don't worry too much, though - in this fic students don't get full personality transplants the moment they are sorted (looking at you, so many Slytherin-Harry fics), so Luna's going to remain her spacey oddball self even if her common room will be different.
> 
> And this author's note is no getting ridiculously long, so I think we'll leave off here. See you next chapter!


	7. There Is Always A Reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't really have anything to say about this one. Let's go!

"You were writing to  _who?!"_  Hermione stared at Ronnie, disbelief in her eyes.

 _"You_ know who," said Ronnie, averting her eyes a little. There was something accusing in Hermione's look that made her feel more guilty than she already was.

They were gathered in the Gryffindor common room. When Ronnie had returned from Dumbledore's office, she'd found the rest of Potter's Gang waiting for her, together with not only Ginny, Fred, George and Percy, but also with a huge number of other Gryffindors who also wanted to know what this entire "diary" business was about and weren't going to take no for an answer.

 _Thanks a_ _ **lot**_ _, Luna,_ Ronnie had thought sourly, and almost wished that the odd little girl had become a Gryffindor as well so that she could yell properly at her — but, she realised, that probably wouldn't have helped any. And it wasn't that Dumbledore had actually  _forbidden_ her from telling the story, it was just that, well, the fact that she had been writing to You-Know-Who without realising it wasn't exactly a point of pride.

A year among these Gryffindors, though, had taught her that trying to keep secrets would just make them even more curious or worried about her — and of course Percy and the twins would keep pestering her until she gave in. So she had resigned herself to her fate and told them all how she'd found the diary, how she had been writing in it and how it had been stolen.

"Ronnie," Percy said, looking half-scared and half-angry, "how  _could_ you keep this a secret? The moment that diary wrote back to you, you should have told Mum and Dad and me! Remember what Dad always said? _Never trust an object that can think for itself —"_

 _"— if you can't see where it's keeping its brain,"_  Ginny, Fred and George all chorused, causing one or two fellow Gryffindors to look oddly at them.

"I  _did_ tell you about the diary," said Ronnie, and was painfully aware that her voice sounded a little more sulky than she really wanted it to. "You told me to go away because you were busy."

"That — I was —  _this isn't about me!"_  Percy sputtered.

"I don't believe a word of this!" scoffed Cormac McLaggen, one of the third-years. "You-Know-Who's diary! That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard! She's just making it up to get attention!"

"I am not!" Ronnie snapped.

"You have to admit, Ronnie," said Fay Dunbar, very gently, "it does sound a little... er... crazy?"

"I think it sounds cool!" said Colin Creevey, who was practically bouncing up and down and apparently thinking this was the most exciting thing he'd ever heard. "Evil diaries that write back, that's like something on TV!"

"I realise that you're a Muggle-born," said Percy in an annoyed tone, "but this isn't one of your silly Muggle entertainment stories! You-Know-Who is real, and he's dangerous!"

"But it wasn't  _really_ him, was it?" said Neville, uncharacteristically trying to focus on the positive. "It was more like... er..."

"Kinda like wizard portraits, isn't it?" said Dean Thomas. "They can act like the person they're supposed to depict, but it's not  _really_ them."

Neville nodded. "Yeah, like that!"

"That's not a bad thought, you know," said George. "I suppose You-Know-Who just gave his diary a bit of sentience or something. Maybe he just wanted someone to talk to who agreed with him about everything."

"Bet he just kept it around for the sake of his ego," Fred agreed. "Can't you imagine him writing in it? _Dear diary, am I not brilliantly evil? Why yes, I certainly am, how astonishingly observant of me to notice."_

A number of the students snorted, but Percy scowled. "How can you joke about this?" he said.

"Comes naturally, Perce!" said Fred lightly.

"It's not funny," said Hermione. "That diary probably has all of Voldemort's secrets in it. Just think about the damage it could do in the wrong hands!" She turned to Ronnie. "I can't believe you didn't  _tell_ us! Or at least your parents!"

Ronnie felt herself turn pink, but before she could answer, the smallest first-year girl (Ronnie couldn't remember her name, but her permanent look of awe suggested that she was Muggle-born) spoke up. "If there's an evil diary around with dangerous secrets, I don't think I want to be here anymore."

"There's no evil diary!" McLaggen insisted. "Can't you hear how stupid it sounds?! _Evil diary!_ I tell you, she's making it all up!"

"Will you stop calling our sister a liar?" George glared at McLaggen.

"I'll stop calling her a liar when she stops lying!" McLaggen glared back.

"This is going to mean another year of cancelled Quidditch practices, I just  _know_ it," Oliver Wood groaned. "Last year we barely got to see a broomstick before well after Christmas, all thanks to You-Know-Who, and  _this_ year..."

Katie Bell, whom Ronnie remembered was the youngest of the Chasers on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, tried to look optimistic. "It's probably not as big a deal this time," she said. "I mean,  _yes_ , a diary of You-Know-Who wouldn't be a good thing, but really, how much trouble could a diary be? Ronnie was writing in it, and it didn't do anything to her. It didn't, right?" she added, a little nervously. "It didn't, I don't know, Imperiusyou or anything?"

Ronnie shuddered. Memories flooded her mind, but she managed to suppress them. "I know what it's like to be... to be under _that_ curse," she said through clenched teeth. "The diary never did anything like that to me."

"What _is_ it like to be Imperiused?" said Colin, before adding, almost as an afterthought: "What's Imperiused, anyway?"

"Don't ask," Ronnie began, just as Jack Sloper, Fay Dunbar and Kellah Kane started talking all at once in order to tell Colin just what the Imperius was, while McLaggen once again declared that he didn't believe any of this, Fred and George told McLaggen to shut up unless he had anything sensible to say, and Oliver Wood started ranting about Quidditch. Hermione gave Ronnie a concerned look, but then got busy trying to comfort that first-year Muggle-born girl, who seemed rather upset at the whole thing.

It was one of those rare occurrences where almost all Gryffindors got involved in a discussion. Everyone had an opinion, even the first-years who had only been at Hogwarts a few hours. In fact, the only one who hadn't said anything at all was Harry.

As the discussion continued, Ronnie looked over at him and felt guilty when he met her eyes. He looked, well,  _hurt_.

"If you're gonna yell," she finally said, "yell at me and not at Ginny, all right? I was the one who kept the diary."

"That's not fair," said Ginny. "I hid it just as much as she did! If you're going to yell at her, you should yell at me too."

Harry looked at the Weasley sisters, and the accusation in his eyes seemed to slowly get replaced by... something else, something Ronnie couldn't quite name. "I'm not going to yell," he said. "I just —" (he seemed to look for the right words) "Why didn't you tell me about that diary? Didn't you think it was important?"

Ronnie squirmed a little. "I don't know," she admitted. "It just  _seemed_ like something I should keep a secret. If I'd known it was You-Know-Who I was writing to, I would have — I would have —" She stopped there, because she really didn't have any idea what she would have done then.

"It'll be all right!" Lavender suddenly said, cutting through the din of voices. "What are we all worrying about, anyway? We've got  _Gilderoy Lockhart!"_

Most of the students stopped talking. An annoying number of them nodded at Lavender's words.

"Little girl's got a point!" said one of the seventh-year boys (ignoring Lavender's indignation at being called 'little girl'). "In fact, I bet that's why Dumbledore hired Lockhart to begin with! He got in Mad-Eye Moody last year, remember, after that business with Snape and Quirrell. Makes sense that he'd want to get in a world-famous champion against the Dark Arts this year."

"So Dumbledore knew that Weasley would get and lose an enchanted diary belonging to You-Know-Who?" said a seventh-year girl rather dryly.

"Well, no, obviously not  _that,"_  the boy hurried to say. "But, well, you know, there's at least one big target for Dark wizards right here..."

Everyone turned to look at Harry.

"Oh, that's  _nice,"_  Ginny huffed. "Leave him alone!"

"Actually, it is true," said Harry simply. "I know that Voldemort —" (cue winces and gasps from several students at the mention of the name) "— is out there still, and that he'll want revenge. I'm sorry, " he added a little defensively, "but I didn't exactly ask for any of this."

"But  _you're_ not afraid of him, are you, Harry?" said Colin. "You already defeated him once, no,  _twice!_ He's no match for you!"

"And!" cried Lee Jordan, so loudly that everyone turned to look at him instead of Harry. "We're Gryffindors! We're the best and bravest damn house at Hogwarts! Are we going to let a  _diary_ frighten us?"

 _"No!"_  cried about half the students present. ( _"Yes!"_ cried a couple of the younger ones, though they may have been joking.)

"All right!" said Lee. "The ones who said yes can hide behind the ones who said no! Gryffindors stick together!"

"What about Ravenclaws?" said Parvati. "My twin sister's in Ravenclaw!"

"Oh, we'll stick by any Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff who needs us too!" said Lee generously. "Just as long as nobody expects us to stick by Slytherin." There were a couple of snorts at this, but some of the younger students looked shocked, so Lee added: "Don't worry about the Slytherins, they're in no danger from You-Know-Who! He  _loves_ Slytherin! Well, statistically,  _someone_ has to!"

"So what do we do if we do find this diary?" said McLaggen. "Not that I believe it exists for even a moment, but  _if_ we find it? Give it to Lockhart?"

 _"No!"_  Ronnie shouted. "He was the one I got the diary from in the first place!"

"Come on, Ronnie, Gilderoy Lockhart would never have anything to do with You-Know-Who," said Lavender. "He's much too...  _good_ for that."

"Mind you," said Parvati, pausing in the middle of worrying about her twin, "it wouldn't hurt to keep a close eye on him, just in case."

"What — oh yes!" said Lavender, giggling slightly. "A  _very_ close eye."

"Mmm-hmmm."

"Mmm-hmmmmmm."

"Quit that," said Ronnie. "Why can't you two think with your  _brains_ instead of with your  _pus— "_

 _"Ronnie, if you finish that sentence, I'm taking twenty points off Gryffindor!"_  Percy snapped.

"I don't think you're taking this very seriously," Harry muttered, and to Ronnie's relief he looked about as disgusted with the girls' focus on that ponce Lockhart as Ronnie felt.

 _"I_  think it's horrid to accuse Professor Lockhart of having anything to do with Voldemort," said Hermione, for once agreeing with Lavender and Parvati (and ignoring that several students were wincing at You-Know-Who's name). "He is famous as a champion against the Dark! All those great things he's done — "

" _Says_ he's done," said Ronnie.

"There were eyewitnesses!" said Hermione. "He wrote all about it in his books, which you would have known if you'd bothered to actually  _read_ them!"

Ronnie ignored this, mostly because she didn't have a counterargument. "Who knows, maybe  _he_ was the one who put us to sleep on the train and stole it back!"

"Professor Lockhart wasn't even  _on_ the train —"

"He could have Apparated!"

"Apparating onto a _moving train?_ He'd be lucky to not end up flattened on the tracks!"

"Weren't you the one who said he'd done great things?"

"Ronnie," said Alicia Spinnet, interrupting the argument between Ronnie and Hermione as it heated up. "Everything aside, why on Earth would someone like Lockhart have anything to do with You-Know-Who? Why would Professor Dumbledore have hired him if there was any chance of that?"

"I wouldn't know," said Ronnie, "but I'm gonna find out!"

"Mmm-hmmmmmm," said Lavender with a knowing smile. "Keep an  _eye_ on him, Ronnie."

Ronnie threw a cushion at her.

* * *

"Ronnie?"

The voice, along with the gentle nudge against her shoulder, tore through Ronnie's dreams. She grunted and turned around under her covers, opening an eye to find that she was in her bed at her Hogwarts dormitory, the curtains pulled closed around her, Crookshanks curled up by her head - and Hermione standing over her, still in her nightdress (a pretty blue one that she'd got sometime during Summer).

"Mrrrf," said Ronnie, struggling to let her voice sound. "Bloody hell, Hermione... I _just_ went to sleep."

"Actually, it's nearly time to get up," said Hermione.

Ronnie groaned. It had taken a long time for her to get to sleep last night. She'd tossed and turned, the thought of You-Know-Who's diary churning around in her head. Finally, Crookshanks had managed to calm her down by lying down next to her, and she had finally fallen asleep to the soothing sound of his purring... but it seemed to her like she'd just closed her eyes for a minute before Hermione so rudely woke her. "Fine," she said, rolling over on her side and pulling her covers over her head, "wake me when it _is_ time to get up."

"I really need to talk to you about something," said Hermione, lowering her voice. "I thought it was best to do it before the other girls wake up."

Sighing, and giving sleep up for a lost cause for the moment, Ronnie rolled onto her back again and pulled down her covers in order to look up at her bushy-haired friend. "Yes?"

"It's about last night," Hermione began.

Ronnie groaned again, louder this time. _"Please,_ not another one of your lectures! Yes, I know I was being stupid, and I know I should have taken that diary to show a responsible adult the moment I realised that it could talk back to me, and I was an idiot for forgetting what Dad told me about magical objects that can think for themselves. Are you happy now?"

"I wasn't going to lecture you!" Hermione looked hurt. "Although I must say that you _were_ being stupid —"

"Go _away_ , Hermione!"

"Oh, _fine."_ Hermione didn't go away, but to her credit (Ronnie had to grudgingly admit) she did stop the tirade before it had even properly begun. Instead, she sat down on the bed, the weight of her body making the soft mattress shift so that Ronnie had to move over just slightly. "It's actually not about the diary at all."

"No?" Ronnie's spirits lifted slightly.

"No. It's about something else. I noticed it, last night, when Katie mentioned the Imperius —"

Ronnie sat up abruptly, waking Crookshanks who lifted his head and looked at her in sleepy confusion. "All right, let's talk about the diary!" she said, feeling herself turn pink. _Don't think about the Imperius!_

Hermione was visibly taken aback at the sudden movement, but quickly gathered herself again. "Yes!" she said. "That's the third time I've seen you go pink and immediately try to change the subject when the subject of the Imperius comes up, or looks like it might come up! Once is nothing, of course; twice might be a coincidence, but three times? That's a pattern!" The slight edge of triumph in her voice gave way to a tone of concern. "Are you all right? I know Quirrell and Voldemort put you under the Imperius last year. I can only imagine how awful that must have felt."

Ronnie was extremely aware of how pink she was. "No, you can't," she said. "I really don't want to talk about this, all right?"

"I think you should," said Hermione. _"Clearly_ it's bothering you. And I remember you talking about Dreamless Sleep potions and how you wished they still affected you, back in Diagon Alley." 

"Congratulations, your memory is as good as Harry's."Ronnie was aware she was being childish about this, but Hermione was going places she really wasn't comfortable with. Trust her to notice those nagging little details that you really didn't want her to notice.

"I'll just ask you outright: Are you having nightmares?"

"Yes, that's why I've woken you up with my terrified screams every night since Christmas," said Ronnie sourly. 

"That's not funny," said Hermione.

"All right, but Hermione, if I'd been having nightmares, don't you think you would have _noticed?_ Your bed is right next to mine!"

"Bad dreams don't always make you scream," said Hermione, and then she looked back, lightly pulling the curtains aside to glance out into the dormitory — probably to make certain the other girls were still asleep before she continued.   _"I've_ had some pretty nasty dreams after last Christmas — dreams I'm always glad to wake up from. I see Voldemort attacking us and..." she shuddered, momentarily losing her calm but almost immediately regaining it. "But you haven't heard _me_ scream, have you?"

"No," Ronnie admitted. 

"There, you see?" said Hermione, as if this proved her point. "I just think that if you _are_ having nightmares, and they're bothering you this much, then you should talk to someone about them." A slight pause. "You can talk to me, if you like."

"I already said I don't want to talk about it." Ronnie turned away from Hermione and busied herself with petting Crookshanks. The cat seemed to notice her distress, and nuzzled her hand comfortingly with his face.  "This conversation is over."

"Ronnie —"

_"Over."_

For once, Hermione didn't push it. "All right," she said. "But you should be glad you have someone you _can_ talk to about these things. I wish _I_  still did," she added almost under her breath.

Ronnie might not be the quickest on the uptake at all times, but even she could pick up on a hint this blatant. She turned back towards Hermione. "Is this about your parents?"

Hermione sighed. "It _was_ about _you_ , but all right." Once more, she momentarily peeked out through the curtains to check on their dorm-mates (though in Ronnie's opinion, if the girls had slept through an entire conversation about nightmares, an additional conversation about Hermione's parents wasn't likely to wake them).  "I really had to _fight_ to make them let me return to Hogwarts this year. If they hear about this diary business, I _know_ they're going to pull me back home. They've started to think Hogwarts sounds too dangerous."

"I'm not gonna tell them, if that helps." Ronnie shifted slightly, running her fingers through Crookshanks's soft fur. "That offer to have _my_ parents talk to them still stands." 

"To be honest, I'm not certain how much good that would do," said Hermione. "Your parents are lovely people, Ronnie, but they don't understand Muggles at all. And my parents don't understand wizards, not really. When I first found out I was a witch, they accepted it pretty easily; after all I had been making odd things happen for years, and I think they were just relieved to have an explanation for it at last. So they didn't have a problem with me going off to Hogwarts. My father even joked that I was going off to Cackle's Academy."

Ronnie blinked. "Cackle's what?"

"Oh..." Hermione looked a little sheepish. "It's from these children's books he used to read to me. You wouldn't have heard of them. Point is, my parents are fine with magic. But they don't really understand what it's _like._ And when we found out that Voldemort was still out there, I knew I couldn't tell them about it. I knew it'd just scare them, and it's not like they could do anything about it. Other than pull me out of Hogwarts because they thought it was too dangerous, and I _really_ didn't want that."

"I wouldn't want them to do that either," said Ronnie.

Hermione smiled, very briefly. "When I was little, I could talk to them about anything. Anything that bothered or upset or frightened me, I could tell them, and they'd listen. But now? If I tell them how scared I was when Voldemort almost killed us, and how worrying it is that a sentient diary is on the loose, I'll be out of Hogwarts faster than you could say _'Transfiguration.'_ Since neither of us want that, I just don't talk to them about such things." She looked at Ronnie, turning stern again. "But _you_ don't have that excuse. I'm positive you'll feel better if you talk to someone about what's troubling you. It's not healthy to bottle up."

Ronnie rubbed her forehead warily, stroking back a few strands of red hair from her eyes. "If I promise I'll think about it," she said, "will you stop nagging?"

"I don't nag!" said Hermione, demonstrating that even the brightest and most perceptive witch of her generation could on occasion be rather clueless about herself. 

"Well, just don't start," said Ronnie, sliding back down to rest her head on her pillow. "And now I'm going back to sleep. Wake me when it's breakfast."

"Just promise me you'll think about what I said."

"Fine." _No way in hell I'm ever going to tell anyone about_ — _no. I'm not telling them. There, I thought about it._ Ronnie closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

It was a little unfair, really, how life insisted on going on around you even when you had all these problems to worry about. With the knowledge that somewhere out there someone was writing to You-Know-Who's old diary, and that this someone might be Lockhart, and the problems Hermione had with her parents, not to mention that she still seemed to want Ronnie to talk about the Imperius _(don't think about the Imperius!)_ it seemed almost insulting that they still had to focus on schoolwork and everything.

But as Dumbledore had said, the teachers were searching Hogwarts for the diary (even a few of the ghosts were helping, as they could go places others couldn't), and, given

But as Dumbledore had said, the teachers were searching Hogwarts for the diary (even a few of the ghosts were helping, as they could go places others couldn't), and, given that the student gossip machine had started, it seemed increasingly unlikely that a student would find the diary and not immediately know what it was.

In many ways, it was a relief that most of the Gryffindors (excluding certain naysayers like McLaggen) were willing to believe Ronnie about the diary. Last year, You-Know-Who had been lurking around the school and very few students had wanted to believe that. Maybe they were catching onto the fact that if any member of Potter's Gang said something about You-Know-Who, it was worth listening to.

Unfortunately, this trust did not extend to Ronnie's suspicions about Lockhart. Not very many people were prepared to believe that such a renowned champion against the Dark Arts could be involved in anything concerning You-Know-Who. Even Hermione remained sceptical — and, surprisingly enough, even Dumbledore told Ronnie that he didn't think Lockhart was involved with the diary.

"To be sure, there is a lot of things one could say about Professor Lockhart," the Headmaster had said when Ronnie asked him, "but he's not Dark. I do not think he would  _willingly and knowingly_ do anything to aid Voldemort."

"What about unwillingly and unknowingly?" said Ronnie suspiciously.

Dumbledore sighed. "My dear Ronnie, if we were to list all the people who had at some point unwillingly or unknowingly aided Voldemort in some way, or at some point, we would have to list half the wizarding populace of Britain, myself included."

 _"You?!"_ Ronnie couldn't believe it.

"Indirectly, perhaps," Dumbledore admitted. "But I was once his teacher. I am not, of course, so arrogant as to presume that I alone gave him his start — but many of the things he later used for his own nefarious purposes, he learned from me."

"Including... enchanting diaries?" said Ronnie carefully.

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, that was not one of mine. In fact, I am not completely certain what enchantments he might have put on a diary that —" he stopped in mid-sentence, his brilliant blue eyes widening behind his half-moon spectacles. "Unless... no, he  _couldn't_ have... but it  _would_ explain..."

"Explain what?" said Ronnie.

"Just a thought I had," said Dumbledore. "I think I shall keep it to myself for the moment, as it's very possible that I'm completely wrong. I would advice you to be careful, Ronnie — oh, and I would also implore you and the rest of Potter's Gang to look after Harry, but knowing you, you will do  _that_ anyway."

That was all he'd wanted to say to her about the diary, or about Lockhart.

Still, a number of Gryffindor girls were dutifully "keeping an eye" on the newest Defence teacher and being annoyingly giggly about it.

And as the days went by and there was no trace of the diary anywhere, and Lockhart remained oblivious, there wasn't a whole lot anyone could do other than to get back into the old school routine, with lessons and homework — and, to Oliver Wood's great relief, Quidditch practices.

This time around, Quidditch went on, and thanks to Fred and George's enthusiastic descriptions of Harry's flying skills, Wood had more or less shanghaied Harry into trying out for the team, with the first tryout set up directly after the first Potions class of the year.

 

* * *

 

 

"Potions," said Flamel in his faint French accent, "might be one of the most frustrating branches of magic."

The Potions classroom hadn't changed much since the days when Severus Snape taught the class; it was just as dark, chilly and filled with shelves containing weird potion ingredients as ever. Though, in a strange way, it didn't seem quite so foreboding and creepy as it had when Snape was the one who stood at the teacher's desk, or as boring as it had when Binns had taught the class.

Flamel let his eyes move across the classroom to look at all the gathered Slytherin and Gryffindor second-years. "Potions certainly does not seem very exciting or very convenient compared to the quicker and, how do you say, flashier subjects of Charms and Transfigurations. After all, once you have learned a Charm perfectly, you have it at your disposal at any time afterwards. All you need is your wand, and a few seconds to perform the Charm, and you are good to go. Yes?"

A number of the students nodded.

"But a potion, now," Flamel continued, "it does not matter how well you learn it, how thoroughly you memorise the list of ingredients; you will still have to make it from scratch every time. And you always need the correct ingredients, every time. Sometimes those ingredients are hard to come by. Sometimes the potion takes months to brew properly. It is enough to try anyone's patience, and I will not lie to you: not many have what it takes to truly become great with Potions."

Ronnie, who was sitting together with the rest of Potter's Gang, couldn't help but remember Snape's first Potion class — he too had started with a speech, but he had been waxing lyrical about potions and called all the students dunderheads. Flamel, by contrast, was pointing out many of the things she herself had thought about Potions class. Even if Snape or Binns  _weren't_ teaching the class, it was hard to get any sort of enthusiasm up for the subject. (Especially when you knew you were immune to all potions anyway.)

She waited for the "but" to come. Surely no Potions teacher would talk so dismissively about the subject he himself was teaching without having a "but" or at least a "however" waiting somewhere.

"So, you might ask, why is Potions a mandatory subject in every magical school?" Flamel looked expectantly at the students. "Does anyone have any theories on this?"

There was a short silence. Hermione raised her hand at once, of course — and then, to Ronnie's surprise, about half the Gryffindors and a few Slytherins raised their hands as well.

 _"Mademoiselle_  Granger?" said Flamel, nodding at Hermione.

"Because Potions is one of the more useful and flexible branches of magic," said Hermione promptly. "For example, roughly seventy-five percent of all healing magic is in the form of potions or elixirs." (How well didn't Ronnie know that, now that none of them worked on her anymore!)

Flamel nodded. "What you say is true,  _Mademoiselle_ Granger," he said. "And yet there are many subjects that are just as useful in other ways, and they remain electives. Take for example Muggle Studies — do not scoff,  _Monsieur_ Malfoy!" he scolded at Malfoy's look of disgust. "The combined Muggle population of England, Scotland and Ireland is well over sixty million! How big is the combined wizard population of those same countries? Less than five thousand! Refusing to learn about Muggles not only means limiting ourselves and our world, or that inaccurate rumours and stereotypes flourish — it means dooming ourselves to remain the ignorant and insignificant minority!

Ronnie once again thought about all the Muggle-hatred she'd witnessed after the story of Harry's family had been exposed. Like that wanker at Gringotts; would he have acted like that towards Hermione's parents if he'd known more about Muggles?

If any of these thoughts had struck anyone else, she didn't know. They certainly hadn't struck Malfoy.

"Insignificant?!" he fumed. "I'll have you know that  _my_ family —"

 _"Monsieur_  Malfoy, I would be happy to discuss your family at length after class," Flamel cut him off. "I welcome you then to tell me how wrong you think I am and why. In fact, this goes for any student who think what I said is wrong — I welcome you to a discussion on that, at any time during our free hours. I will award one hundred points to the one who can convince me that my statement about the insignificance of the wizarding world is wrong."

There was a collective murmur among the students. One hundred points awarded to a single student in one go was almost unheard of; the closest anyone had got in years was when Potter's Gang had earned three hundred collective points (seventy-five points apiece) for fighting against You-Know-Who last Christmas, pretty much ensuring Gryffindor winning the House Cup.

Malfoy, however, was suspicious. "It's a trick," he said. "You wouldn't make that offer if you had any intention of actually keeping it."

"No trick,  _Monsieur_ Malfoy," said Flamel. "I admit, I do not think you can do it. But if you prove me wrong, I will be more than happy to award you a hundred points."

A determined look flashed over Malfoy's face, and Ronnie was certain that Flamel had just given the little tosser a new goal.

Hermione tentatively raised her hand again. "Professor Flamel," she said. "If you think the wizarding world is so insignificant, then why — er, then why...?" She struggled with the words and seemed at a loss for how to phrase her question.

"Then why am I even here, educating young wizards?" Flamel smiled; a surprisingly warm smile. "That is a good question,  _Mademoiselle_ Granger. I will award fifty points to the one who can tell me the correct answer."

Nobody spoke. Harry looked like he was going to say something, but then apparently thought better of it. Then, surprisingly, Fay raised her hand.

"Because it's fun to torture innocent students?" she said sweetly, and was rewarded with giggles, groans and glares from the various 'innocent' students around her.

Snape would immediately have taken ten or even twenty points from Gryffindor for cheek, but Flamel merely shook his head. "Very droll,  _Mademoiselle_ Dunbar. But no, that is not the reason." He looked at Gryffindors and Slytherins alike. "If you ever do figure it out, do tell me, and the fifty points shall be yours. But for now, let us return to the subject of Potions."

The sudden change in topic startled a fair few of the students, who had almost forgotten what this class was actually about.

"If the usefulness of Potions is not the primary reason for making the subject mandatory in school, what is?" This time, Flamel did not wait for anyone to raise their hand (maybe he felt that they had wasted enough time). Instead, he provided the answer himself: "It is very simple: Teaching Potions to young witches and wizards is also a way of teaching them  _patience."_

Flamel paused, looking around as is wanting to make certain everyone had caught this, and continued: "Patience is a vital trait in any wizard or witch — and nowhere in the field of magic is patience more essential than it Potions. There are no shortcuts, and if you think otherwise, I invite you to remember the tragic story of the witch Rhonda Wagtail, who when trying to brew a Shrinking Solution thought she could substitute normal figs for Shrivelfigs." He shook his head in dismay. "I do believe they found most of her in the end, but still — a tragic fate for someone so young. Do you find this amusing,  _Monsieur_ Crabbe?"

Crabbe, who had been sniggering at the story of Rhonda Wagtail, hurriedly shook his head and tried to look serious, clearly not used to being called out on anything in Potions class.

"Very good," said Flamel, turning his attention back to the entire class. "This is the reason why it is so very important to follow the instructions perfectly and not fall for the temptation to —" (he seemed to search for the right word for a moment or two) "—  _experiment._  Now, this is not to say that experimentation cannot have positive results, and many wizards have successfully found shortcuts, better way of doing things, over the years. But remember that you can only bend rules successfully after you have learned them perfectly. That, more than anything, is the most important lesson the subject of Potions has to teach you."

Ronnie was stunned, almost more stunned than she had been over the controversial statement about the wizarding world being insignificant. Never had anyone explained Potions to her like that. But then, she had never actually asked — she had just accepted that Potions was mandatory without ever really thinking about the reason why.

Then, another thought struck her:  _Was_ that the real reason, or was Flamel just making it up?

It seemed almost like he had read her mind, because he looked at her and smiled. "Yes,  _Mademoiselle_  Weasley. You are thinking. That is good. Remember that there is always a reason. No matter how ridiculous something seems, how absurd a rule, how nonsensical a person's action — there is always a reason. And the reason may not even be what you think it is."

"Er..." said Ronnie, who couldn't think of anything more intelligent to say.

Flamel nodded to her and once again addressed the collected students. "Now then. I fear my predecessor,  _Monsieur_ Binns, has been less than informative about what potions were covered in your first year, so I hope you will bear over with me if I test your  _patience_ —" (he paused in case anyone wanted to laugh at this attempt-of-a-joke, but nobody did) "— by starting the term with a very simple potion, namely a Forgetfulness potion. The ingredients are ready!"

 

* * *

 

 

 

"He must be the oddest teacher we've had," said Neville after Potions class, as Potter's Gang made their way to the Quidditch field afterwards. "And I'm counting Mad-Eye Moody."

"Better than Snape, though," said Ronnie. "And  _much_ better than Lockhart."

Hermione sent her a dirty look. "Just because  _someone_ didn't get a single answer right on the test Lockhart gave us —" she began.

"Test?! What test?" said Ronnie hotly. "That wasn't a test, it was a study in self-obsession!  _'What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite colour? What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest accomplishment? What would be Gilderoy Lockhart's ideal Christmas present! Which dimple on Gilderoy Lockhart's **arse**  is in your opinion the cutest?'"_ 

"It never said that last one!" Hermione snapped 

"It might as well have! And what's any of that got to do with Defence against the Dark Arts? Just because  _someone_ fancies him —"

"Ronnie, Hermione,  _please_ don't start this again," said Harry in a somewhat weary voice.

The subject of Gilderoy Lockhart had been a somewhat touchy one between them since Ronnie began accusing him of having something to do with You-Know-Who, but it had grown even worse after the disastrous first Defence against the Dark Arts class, when Lockhart has first given them a written test "to see how well they had read his books" that was only about Gilderoy Lockhart himself, and had finished the lesson by setting dozens of Cornish pixies on the class with some hopeless fib about how they were dangerous Dark creatures that they should learn to fight. The pixies had all crowded Ronnie and tried to cuddle her, and then started fighting over who of them got to keep a lock of her hair or a bit of her robe. She'd had several strands of hair pulled out of her scalp and her robe ripped on a couple of embarrassing places (she really hadn't needed the class to know the colour of her knickers!) before the rest of the class managed to rescue her and subdue the pixies. This had not endeared Lockhart to Ronnie at all.

She was just about to hiss something biting, when they were suddenly interrupted by the excited squeal of Colin Creevey: "Harry!  _Harry!"_

The tiny first-year boy was coming running up to them, carrying what looked like an ordinary Muggle camera, and followed by a somewhat embarrassed-looking Ginny. "Ginny says you're going to play Quidditch, Harry!" he panted as he came closer. "Can we come too, and watch? I've never seen Quidditch before! Is it true that there are four balls, and you play it on broomsticks, and that you're going to be the most important person on the entire team?"

"Er—" said Harry, a little overwhelmed.

 _"Sorry,"_  Ginny mouthed behind Colin's back.

"Oh, and can I take a picture of you?" Colin obliviously went on, holding up his camera.

"A picture?" Harry repeated.

"Yeah, so I can prove I met you! I'd really love a picture of the famous Potter's Gang to show my family back home! A boy in my dormitory said that if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures will  _move!"_  Colin looked beside himself with excitement, and then quite suddenly changed the subject. "Have you found out anything about the diary?"

"Er — no."

"If I find it, I'll take it to you! This is an amazing place, isn't it? My dad's a milkman, and I never knew all the weird stuff I could do was magic! Nobody in my family knew! Everyone just thought I was mental!"

"Blimey, I wonder why?" said Ronnie, earning herself a glare from Hermione.

"I don't know either," said Colin, to whom sarcasm was just a seven-letter word. "So can I have a picture, Harry?"

"Er —" said Harry again.

"Sorry, er, Colin," said Neville hurriedly, "but Harry's late for the Quidditch tryouts! Aren't you Harry?"

"Er — yes!" said Harry gratefully. "No time for pictures right now, I'm afraid. Come on, everyone, better not waste any more time." With that, he turned and began walking at a brisk pace towards the Quidditch field.

The rest of Potter's gang followed, and so did Colin and Ginny.

"Can I take pictures of the tryouts then?" said Colin, running to keep up. "My father's never seen Quidditch either, or people flying on broomsticks, and my brother Dennis said —"

"Yes, yes, all  _right!"_  said Harry, cutting him off before brother Dennis's words could be shared with the world at large.

"Are you starting a Harry Potter fan club or something?" Ronnie muttered to Ginny.

"This isn't  _my_ fault!" Ginny hissed back. "He just sort of invited himself along! What was I supposed to do, forbid him to show himself at the Quidditch field?"

"Well, you could have —" Ronnie paused, trying to think of something Ginny could have said or done that would actually have got through to the overeager little boy. Luckily, she didn't have to figure out anything, because now they were at the Quidditch pitch, and Oliver Wood was calling to them.

The entire Gryffindor Quidditch team was there; apart from Wood, there was Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet, there was Fred and George — and there was McLaggen, who didn't look very thrilled with the prospect of being replaced as a Seeker.

"Are all of you trying out?" said Wood, who clearly hadn't expected for such a crowd to turn up. He looked at Ginny and Colin, both of whom were tiny for their age. "I don't think I can accept first-years who haven't even had their first flying lesson yet."

"We're just here for moral support," said Ginny.

"With a camera?!" Wood looked more closely at Colin. "You're not planning on recording our strategies and selling them to Slytherin, are you?"

"What?" For once, Colin looked taken aback.

"It's all right, I said he could come," said Harry, who apparently felt bad for Colin.

"Hah," said McLaggen. "I knew it. Get Potter on the team, and we won't have a single training session in peace. The field'll be swarmed with fans and nosy onlookers."

"For the last time, Cormac, I'm not throwing you off the team," said Wood.

"Though he should," said Fred.

"We still need reserves," Wood went on as if Fred hadn't spoken at all, "and it's better to have someone ready to step in. Remember last year, when Alicia got knocked out in the match against Ravenclaw? We had to continue the game with only two Chasers because we didn't have any reserves. All right, anyone not trying out for the team, step back a little. Now, Harry, you've seen us play, right? Before we start, I'll go through the rules and positions on the team, very simply..."

"Going to play Quidditch, are you?" The dulcet tones of Gilderoy Lockhart reached them.

Ronnie glanced around and saw the Defence teacher come strolling up with a self-important smile.

"No, no, please do go on," he added as Wood looked confusedly at him, "I just thought I'd stop by and see if I could give young Harry a few extra pointers. It's his first tryout, as I understand it, and I was quite the Quidditch player myself back in my school days — why, some days I'd spend more time in the air than on the ground!" He chuckled at his own weak-excuse-for-a-joke.

"What did I say?" McLaggen muttered. "If this keeps up, the field's going to be so crowded there won't be room for the grass."

But now, Wood had had enough. "All right!" he thundered. "Anyone who's not either on the team, or trying out for the team — leave the field at once!  _Please!"_

"Steady on, steady on," said Lockhart soothingly. "I was just getting to that, as a matter of fact — I thought perhaps you needed some privacy for the tryouts, and was about to offer to take these young rascals off your back for a bit."

"But —" Ronnie began, astonished at Lockhart's sudden self-contradiction.

"Now now, young lady, no arguments, you heard what he said," said Lockhart. "Harry, do stop by my office some time and I'll be happy to give you those pointers! Come along, children! The team has tryouts to do!"

There didn't seem to be much point in arguing, so they obeyed, walking off the field with Lockhart following them, and Colin looking crestfallen that he hadn't got any pictures.

Once they had got a few hundred feet away from the field, Lockhart stopped and looked at all of them. "Listen here, children," he said in what he probably intended to be a friendly tone, "being friends with a celebrity does mean that you occasionally have to let him go off with the public without holding him back. Harry's young, he doesn't quite know how to handle his fame yet — I'll have a talk with him about that. Now, it doesn't mean he can't be your friend! Of course it doesn't! But you have to allow him his moments in the spotlight without crowding him."

Potter's Gang looked at one another. Ginny looked flabbergasted, and Colin's face looked like a question mark.

"I don't think —" Neville began.

"Besides, you yourself should understand that being around Harry makes you public figures as well," Lockhart went on. "The famous Potter's Gang, and of course the Weasley family, the family that adopted Harry Potter! Yes, yes, it's a minor thing compared to Harry himself, of course — and it's not as impressive as winning  _Witch_ _Weekly_ 's Most Charming Smile Award five times in a row, as I have — but it does mean people are aware of you. And it's vitally important that you give them a good impression!"

"I —" Neville began again.

"Look at me!" Lockhart continued, cutting him off. "My natural good looks and winning nature help, of course, but you don't think I would have won that award five times in a row if I'd gone around being grouchy and unpleasant, do you? No, I give people ample opportunity to  _see_ my charming smile!"

He paused, his smile growing even wider, as if he was demonstrating. Hermione actually blushed.

"It's all about giving the public what they  _want_ ," Lockhart continued. "And they don't want to see Harry crowded by dullards. Smile and be pleasant — ah, hello, there, how are you all this fine day?" He turned to give his 'charming smile' to a group of Hufflepuffs who were passing. "I hope you're all looking forward to our next Defence Against the Dark Arts!"

The Hufflepuffs agreed enthusiastically that yes, they were (and Ronnie noted to her disgust that at least two of the girls in the group were being rather giggly about it).

"See? Always have a smile and a friendly comment," said Lockhart as the Hufflepuffs walked out of earshot. "It costs you so little and earns you so much. More importantly, it gives Harry a better public image; it shows the public that he surrounds himself with the right kind of people."

"...can we go now?" said Neville weakly.

"What? Oh, yes, of course!" Lockhart looked astonished. "Sorry, it wasn't my intention to keep you from wherever you were heading. I just wanted to share some friendly advice. Who knows, maybe you will become famous one day, like Harry — or even like me." He winked at them. "As your teacher, it is my duty to prepare you for your later life."

"...right, then," said Ginny.

"That's the spirit! Remember: Smiles and friendly comments! I'll see you at our next Defence class, if not sooner!" With that, Lockhart turned and walked off.

"I just wanted to take some pictures," said Colin, turning to the others as the teacher moved off. "Harry  _said_ I could."

"What a  _ponce_ ," said Ronnie.

Colin blinked. "Harry?!"

"No, Lockhart!  _'Just wanted to share some friendly advice,'_ my  _arse!"_

Hermione glared at her. "He was just trying to help. Why do you keep saying such things about him?"

"Because they're true," said Ronnie. "What with more than half the girls at school drooling over him,  _someone_ should keep a clear head."

"I'm not drooling!" Hermione protested.

"Children, children," said Ginny, in an impressive imitation of Lockhart's tone of voice. "I'm not seeing smiles or hearing friendly comments."

Neville and Colin laughed, but Hermione frowned and Ronnie snapped: "Sod smiles and friendly comments! Remember what Professor Flamel said? There's always a reason for why people act the way they do. And nobody acts like  _that_ without a  _very_ good reason!"

"Er... I don't think Professor Flamel meant that there was always a  _sinister_ reason for people acting the way they do," said Neville carefully. "Besides, I don't know what to make of him either. All that talk about the insignificance of the wizarding world..."

"The important part," said Hermione, "is that Dumbledore trusts Lockhart. You said so yourself!"

"No, I said Dumbledore didn't think Lockhart was  _Dark,"_  said Ronnie. "That doesn't mean he's not up to something. And I still think he has something to do with the diary. And even if he doesn't, I wouldn't trust him with Harry.  _'Do stop by my office, Harry,'_ " she added, trying to imitate Lockhart's voice as well as Ginny had. "I wonder what he's got planned. I'm not convinced he doesn't have the diary."

"Veronica Weasley," Hermione raged. "You are the most stubborn, pig-headed —!"

"Hold on!" Neville cried. "What's  _with_ you two lately? You're always sniping at one another!"

"And it's almost always about Lockhart," said Ginny. "Really, if you can't agree about him, then go find out if he has the diary or not!"

Ronnie and Hermione looked at Neville and Ginny, then at one another. "Brilliant idea, Ginny." said Ronnie. "We could just go up to him and ask  _'Hey, Professor, you wouldn't have any spare evil diaries around, would you?'_ "

"All the teachers and the ghosts are looking for the diary," said Hermione. "If Lockhart had it, they would have found it long ago. We're second-years, we don't have their resources or their skills."

"But you do have something they don't have," said Ginny. "Harry's Invisibility Cloak! I'm certain he'll lend it to you if you ask him!"

"That's brilliant!" Colin cried, before two seconds later adding: "Invisibility Cloak?"

"It could work, couldn't it!" said Ronnie, turning to Hermione.

"It would be a serious breach of a teacher's privacy," said Hermione. "Professor Lockhart's got enough girls 'keeping an eye on him' as it is."

"We wouldn't bother him!" said Ronnie. "Just use the Cloak to have a look around his office and private quarters! If the diary's not there, no harm done, and he'll never even know we were there!"

Hermione sighed. "I can't believe I'm going along with this, but if it's the only way to convince you to drop your ridiculous suspicions... no, wait a minute, we can't do it anyway," she said with a mixture of relief and disappointment. "He's the Defence teacher. His office is bound to have spells and protections on it that stops intruders."

"But it wouldn't stop people he's inviting or bringing along himself!" said Ronnie triumphantly. "And who do we know who  _just_ got an invitation to stop by Lockhart's office?!"

 

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This can't end well!
> 
> Flamel's mention of there being "less than five thousand" wizards in Britain, is based on a comment of J. K. Rowling's, where she estimated there were around three thousand (though she did say she usually didn't operate with set numbers). "Less than five thousand" seemed a reasonable number, as it's a small enough number that it's plausible they might stay hidden, but a big enough number that they can sort of work as a separate society.
> 
> A few people seem to be expecting the newspaper article about Harry to cause Sirius to break out of Azkaban. There are, however, two reasons for why this isn't likely to happen:
> 
> 1: Sirius probably hasn't even seen the article. The prisoners of Azkaban don't usually get the newspaper at all; in canon Sirius had the paper with the picture of the Weasleys by pure chance (he got it off Cornelius Fudge because he wanted to do the crosswords).
> 
> 2: I'm not so sure that wanting to save Harry would give him the right motivation. Remember, Azkaban sucks out all your positive emotions and leaves you with only your worst thoughts and memories, so it's very possible that Sirius at the moment isn't capable of thinking like that. Even in canon he broke out not because he wanted to help Harry but because he wanted revenge on Wormtail — and revenge isn't a positive emotion or goal.
> 
> This doesn't mean that the article isn't going to have consequences, or that Sirius isn't going to show up... but don't bet on the two instances being connected.


	8. A Lot Of Questions, Not A Lot Of Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oops.... I double-posted chapter six for some reason. It should be fixed now.

Harry Potter had very many admirable qualities. He was brave, he was resourceful, he was good at thinking on his feet in a crisis, he was one of the most talented broomstick fliers Hogwarts had seen in a century, and he had pretty nice hair.

What he  _wasn't,_ however, was a very good actor.

And so, anyone who paid attention to him as he approached the teacher's desk after the day's Defence Against The Dark Arts lesson, would probably have seen the "earnest and friendly smile" on his face for what it was; an incredibly fake and pasted-on grin that bordered on a grimace.

"Excuse me, Professor," he said, in a tone of voice that more than suggested a boy bracing himself for something particularly unpleasant.

Had the Professor in question been anyone but Gilderoy Lockhart, he would definitely have caught on to the fact that Harry really did not want to be there. But Lockhart, who was busy putting away today's textbooks (all of them sporting dashing pictures of himself on the front cover) was an expert at not noticing things he didn't care to notice, and he certainly wasn't about to let a little thing like tone of voice spoil the moment when the famous Boy Who Lived wanted a word.

"Certainly, Harry, certainly," he said, flashing the boy one of his trademark award-winning smiled. "Good job as the Bandon Banshee today, by the way. Your screeching could have used a little work, and the way you clasped your throat when I removed your voice was less than convincing, but all in all, nice work. It really makes the material come  _alive,_ doesn't it, to add these small dramatisations. Gives you a whole new insight in how dangerous the Dark Creatures are and the ingenuity needed to deal with them."

"Yes, sir," said Harry dutifully. Ever since the fiasco with the Cornish Pixies, Lockhart had decided that practical demonstrations probably were a little too demanding for the second-year students and had instead started to use the Defence classes to tell the students about all his great accomplishments. To make it more exciting he's taken to act out highlights from various battles against Dark Creatures — usually with Harry in the unwilling role as the Dark Creatures.

"I was thinking about recounting my famous stand against the vampire Bellemare for next lesson," Lockhart went on. "Tell me, how is your Transylvanian accent?"

"Er, Professor," Harry hurried to say, "I was really hoping to talk to you about what you said on the Quidditch pitch the other day. You know, about giving me some pointers?"

Lockhart beamed, all thoughts of vampires and Transylvanian accents immediately gone. "Ah, of course!" he said. "Yes, of _course_ , I would be happy to give you some advice there. You know, my old flying teacher always said that professional Quidditch lost a great star player when I decided to dedicate my life to fighting the Dark Arts. But Quidditch was only ever a hobby to me, you understand, a nice way to relax and take my mind off things for a while."

"Yes, sir," said Harry patiently.

"Well, no use in sitting here thinking about what could have been, is there?" Lockhart raised himself. "If you have the time to accompany me to my office now, I'll be more than happy to —" he paused, then went on in a slightly softer voice: "Actually, could you perhaps give me a couple of minutes first? I just remembered that I might have a few bits of, er, research lying around in my office — purely for academical purposes, you understand, but nevertheless nothing I would feel comfortable letting a twelve-year-old see, even if it's you. I'm sure you understand."

"Oh, I do, sir," said Harry, giving Lockhart what he probably thought was an understanding nod. "I'll just wait here while you put, er, your research away, shall I?"

"Splendid, splendid! I'll be right back!" Lockhart let the neatly-stacked pile of books lie on the desk as he hurried over to the stairs that led to his office.

Underneath the Invisibility Cloak, Ronnie lightly touched Harry's shoulder and whispered, in as close a parody of Lockhart as she could manage when having to keep her voice to a whisper: "Splendid, splendid!"

He shot her an annoyed look, though since he couldn't actually see where she was, the look missed her by several inches. "Just go," he mouthed.

Making a mental note to do something nice for her friend as a thank-you for what he was willing to put himself through for the sake of her investigations, Ronnie hurried after Lockhart.

She had pondered taking either Hermione or Neville with her under the Cloak, but had decided against it. After all, even if the Cloak was more than big enough for two, one person made a lot less noise and was less likely to give herself away, as long as she made sure to stay silent. And so Ronnie took great care not to make too much noise as she climbed up the stairs after the clueless Professor.

Traditionally, the Defence against the Dark Arts teacher had his (or her, on the occasions when the teacher was a witch) office and personal quarters just by the Defence classroom, and this office that was connected to the classroom itself for easy entrance and exit. All right, there was another entrance to the office as well, in a second-floor corridor, but a Defence teacher in a hurry would never bother with that detour when it was so much more convenient to just take the stairs to or from the classroom.

(When Ronnie was younger, Fred and George had amused her and Ginny with tales of of extra lazy or extra paranoid Defence teachers who through their entire time at Hogwarts had only ever been in those two rooms in the castle, even eating all their meals in their office. None of them had lasted beyond a year at Hogwarts, and at least one had turned out to be a vampire.)

Lockhart had reached the top of the stairs now, where the door to his office waited, locked and ominous as only a door to a teacher's office can be. Ronnie stopped on the step below to see what he did now — there were probably all kinds of protections, hexes and curses on the door...

Lockhart made a casual wave of his wand, and with a soft  _click_ the door swung open.

Making sure to stay silent, Ronnie took the last step up to the door and hat just enough time to slip into the room before the door slid shut behind her. And she didn't feel so much as a tiny Stinging Hex.

Well, that was bloody anticlimactic. If this had been one of those rooms Bill broke into for Gringotts, there would have been curses here that would have turned her into a gerbil, or given her two heads, or at the very least put her into a deep sleep for a hundred years. All right, any of those might have been overkill for a teacher's office, but Ronnie couldn't help feeling a little cheated that there didn't seem to be any protections at _all_. Mad-Eye Moody would have been ashamed.

Still, no point in complaining because sneaking in had been easier than she had supposed it would be.

Ronnie had never seen the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher's office before, but vaguely knew that all teachers were allowed to decorate their offices and personal quarters in the way they saw fit — and Lockhart had definitely done that. The room was lit by dozens of flickering candles, and the walls were filled with posters, photos and paintings of Lockhart himself that you could hardly see the wall, and all of them were turning and flashing their famous award-winning grin at the real Lockhart when he came in. Huge piles of books, all signed and sporting equally-smiling pictures of Lockhart, were stacked neatly on several smaller tables around the office. And, just in case this wasn't enough, each wall also sported a full-body mirror, so that no matter which direction you were facing you could see your own reflection (useless if you were invisible, annoying if you were ugly; heaven if you were Gilderoy Lockhart). In short, the entire room was a gigantic love letter from Gilderoy Lockhart to Gilderoy Lockhart.

Ronnie  _really_ wasn't surprised; nor was it particularly surprising that the "research" the Professor had talked about didn't seem to be anywhere in sight.

However, there  _were_ two surprises in the room.

The first surprise was the small cage just by the door, where two grey rats (somewhat smaller, sleeker and more healthy-looking than poor old Scabbers) were running about, both of them making a minor commotion when Lockhart came in; they stood on their hind legs, sniffing out in the air towards him and making squeaky noises. It was all Ronnie could do to stop herself from taking the two steps to the side to say hello to the rodents — but she wasn't stupid enough to give herself away. It was a surprise that someone that Lockhart would keep rats; he struck Ronnie more as the type to have handsome owls or exotic birds;  _possibly_ a pedigree cat or even a Kneazle. Not common grey rats.

The second surprise was further in - In a large, stuffed chair by a crackling fireplace, surrounded by smiling and waving Lockhart picture, was a man. A strange man that Ronnie had never seen before. And judging by the way he started when Lockhart entered, he had been asleep, but the panicked expression on his face was replaced by one of relief when he saw that it was Lockhart who entered.

"Gilderoy," he said, his voice strangely high-pitched, as he lowered the wand he'd been brandishing. "You startled me. I thought it was — no, never mind."

Ronnie was stunned. Who was this man? He was small, fat and balding, with watery eyes and a rather twitchy disposition; certainly he was a far cry from the perfectly-groomed, tall and handsome Lockhart.

"Dreadfully sorry," said Lockhart, in his customary flourishing way. "But I have to warn you that you had better change. I've got young Harry Potter coming here for a chat."

"Harry.. P-Potter?" The smaller man winced, looking up at the closed door as if afraid that Harry would be standing there. "No. Oh, no. Not him. Not Harry Potter. He can't see me. He'll know."

"But he doesn't have to see you," said Lockhart. "You can just —"

"I said  _no!"_  The man's already high-pitched voice turned shrill. "He can't see me in  _any_ form! You'll just have to go out and — and tell him you can't talk right now!"

"Me, tell  _Harry Potter_ I don't have time for him, when he's specifically sought out my advice?" There was a curious undertone to Lockhart's voice now; he sounded as self-interested and ridiculous as ever, but... there was something else there too, something almost... _contemplative._

"Fine, fine, just don't talk to him here," the man snapped. "Take him somewhere else! Anywhere else! Just, just not here, not where..." he made vague motions with his wand towards the door.

For a few moments, Lockhart stood impassive. Then he beamed again and his expression was the same vapidly jovial one as before. "Right you are, then! I'm sure I can find a place to talk to him about Quidditch in peace... Begged me for advice, you know. The boy's clearly not untalented on a broomstick, could easily become a Quidditch star with the right tutelage... but of course he'll want an expert's help with the finer details..."

"Yes, yes, just _go!"_

Ronnie watched as Lockhart turned and went back to the door, the caged rats once again getting up on their hind legs in the hope of getting attention as he walked past.

She needed a new plan; she'd thought she could search the room unnoticed while Harry kept Lockhart busy with pointed questions and suchlike, but now it looked like she would be locked in the office together with a man she didn't know who was, and with no convenient distractions for him to stop him from noticing her if she made even the slightest bit of noise.

The safest thing would be to follow Lockhart, to slip out after him unnoticed and wait for a new opportunity. But — no. She had Harry's Invisibility Cloak, the same Cloak that had proved effective against both mountain trolls and You-Know-Who. She only had to be careful, and this one man wouldn't ever know she was there.

So she remained where she was, even as Lockhart opened the door and stepped out of the office with a "Harry, dear boy, I see my office is a little too unorganised right now for visitors. So I was hoping instead that maybe we could go —" His voice was cut off as the door clicked shut behind him, leaving Ronnie alone in the room with the strange man.

She felt her heart beat in her chest as the man looked around... But no, she wasn't going to be intimidated by this weird little man who didn't even know she was here. She steadied her breathing and now allowed herself to take a closer look at him.

He certainly  _did_ look twitchy. His head darted back and forth as he looked around the room. For some reason — and Ronnie did not know where this thought came from — it wouldn't have been all surprising if he'd decided to get into the cage and hang out with the rats.

He didn't do this, of course. Instead, he seemed to relax, and he cautiously retreated back to the chair. "Nobody's there," he murmured as he slid down back down into his seat. "Get a grip on yourself, Wormtail. Nobody knows. Nobody suspects anything."

 _Wormtail?_ What kind of name was that? Ronnie waited in case he was going to say anything more, but he didn't. Neither did he do anything particularly interesting; he just sat there in the chair and stared out at nothing, with a nervous look on his face.

He didn't seem to be aware that she was there, but the way he was sitting she couldn't start moving about and examining things without him noticing.

Ronnie had to bite her lip so she wouldn't groan or scream in frustration. Here she was, invisible in the very room of her Number One Suspect, the perfect opportunity to look for the diary, but she couldn't do anything thanks to this... this weird little man.

Who  _was_ he, anyway? And what was he doing here? Obviously he couldn't be part of the school staff, or he wouldn't have been so nervous about being seen. Probably he wasn't supposed to be here at all.

 _Are he and Lockhart gay lovers?!_ Ronnie thought (and was glad she was invisible, because she felt herself go pink again).  _Oh, God! Maybe he's Lockhart's secret sex slave! Maybe Lockhart is_ _ **his**_ _secret sex slave!_  (She'd once spent an informative if vaguely disturbing hour secretly thumbing through some of the books at the Burrow that Mum didn't think she knew about, those books with covers where women with big tits were swooning in the arms of impossibly-muscular men.)

She frowned. No, that didn't seem right. And it was strange, but there was something oddly familiar about this Wormtail character, almost as if she  _should_ know who he was. But for the life of her she couldn't imagine why she felt like that. She was certain she had never seen him before; someone so odd-looking, she would have remembered, wouldn't she?

 _Harry,_ she thought. Harry had to know who this man was. After all, there had to be a reason why Wormtail didn't want Harry to see him. Maybe he was one of Harry's Muggle relatives, one that she hadn't met? No, that wasn't right either, he was dressed like a wizard and was holding a wand. He had to be a wizard. But of course, Harry did have a lot of fans and had met a lot of people, not to mention he had an uncanny gift for _remembering_ the people he'd met, even if it had only been for a few minutes. So probably he'd met Wormtail at some point, maybe back when he first visited the Leaky Cauldron with Hagrid... 

She stopped in her thoughts as Wormtail sagged and buried his head in his hands, his shoulders starting to shake.

To her amazement she realised he was crying.

For almost a minute she stood motionless, unable to tear her eyes away from this grown man — be he ever so small, fat, and funny-looking — weeping like a little child. She had never seen a grown man cry before, and she felt a pang of sympathy for him. What could it be that had him so upset? Had it just dawned on him that he was forced to spend time with that ponce Lockhart? That'd probably make  _her_ cry.

The rats were making quite a racket from their cage, she noticed now, and apparently he did too, because he swallowed his tears and looked up and towards the cage. "What is it now?" he said. "Going stir-crazy again? Well, chin up. That cage is quite big enough. I should know."

Ronnie would later ponder these particular words, but for now she was too busy with another thought that had struck her: Rats didn't have much in the way of eyesight, but they had an extremely good sense of smell and hearing. Was it possible that they were sensing Ronnie's presence?

It seemed like Wormtail was coming to a similar conclusion, because he raised himself and looked around, his movements even more twitchy than before. He was brandishing his wand, and spoke, in a trembly squeak: "Who's there?"

Ronnie stiffened. Then, a flash of inspiration hit her. She slid up to one of the walls and, careful not to let any part of her show, tore one of the Lockhart posters down (the Lockhart on the picture fell over as the poster went down, looking like he was cursing up a blue streak) and let out a mad, cackling laugh. "Lockhart looks better on the floor!" she announced, trying to make her voice sound as male as possible.

 _"Peeves!"_  Wormtail exclaimed, confirming Ronnie's suspicions that he was indeed a wizard — a Muggle wouldn't have recognised her attempt at imitating Hogwarts' resident poltergeist.

Ronnie let out another mad cackle, upset one of the book piles on the table, and under the cover of the noise the books made as they fell to the floor, ran up to the door.

Luckily, Lockhart hadn't bothered locking the door when he had exited, and so it was the work of a moment to tear it open and escape back into the Defence classroom.

"Peeves!" Wormtail's voice sounded behind her. "Come back here! I can explain —"

What he thought he could explain, she never knew, because his voice was cut off as she threw the door shut and, still invisible, ran down the stairs.

It had been a bit of a gamble. Peeves usually didn't enter the teachers' offices or the dorm rooms, and while he _could_ make himself invisible he generally preferred to be _seen_ when making mischief. But Wormtail had seemed to buy her little deception anyway; at least hopefully he wouldn't know that it had been  _her_.

But it was still a good idea to put as much distance between herself and the mysterious Wormtail as possible. Ronnie ran out of the classroom and hurried towards the safety of the Gryffindor common room.

She almost collided with Professor McGonagall, who was coming the other way and looking worried about something, but she managed to avoid the collision just in time, moving aside to let the teacher pass — and luckily, McGonagall didn't seem to notice she was even there.

It wasn't until Ronnie was almost by the portrait of the Fat Lady that she risked taking off the Invisibility Cloak.

 

* * *

 

To her surprise, Harry was already in the common room, and he was surrounded by people. There was Hermione and Neville, of course, but Ginny, Fred, George and Percy was there too, as were all their fellow second-years, Colin Creevey and even a few others. There seemed to be a sort of commotion going on, so Ronnie made her way through the crowd and towards Harry.

They all parted. Of course they did; they should all knew what she might do to anyone who didn't let her reach her best friend, but they were all looking serious. Even the twins were looking uncharacteristically grave, and Hermione, Neville and Ginny all met Ronnie's eyes with pained looks.

_What had she missed?!_

"Harry, what's up?" she said, feeling worry rise up inside her. "Thought you'd still be with Lockhart! Are you all right?"

Harry looked up at her, with a strange expression. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said. "Well, I mean, nothing's the matter with me. Lockhart had just started listing off all the Quidditch games he'd won, when Professor McGonagall showed up and said she had news for me."

Ronnie nodded, her worry just rising even further. McGonagall  _had_ looked very concerned when she passed her in the hallway. "What did she say?"

Harry paused, looking at Neville and Hermione, then back at Ronnie. "My Aunt and Uncle are gone," he said.

"Gone?!" Ronnie blinked. "They're  _dead?!_ But they looked perfectly fine this Summer —"

"No!" said Harry. "They're  _gone_. Vanished. Without a trace." He shook his head. "Happened last week. Uncle Vernon left work at five o'clock as usual, and that's the last anyone's seen of him. None of the neighbours have seen Aunt Petunia since then either. The milkman noticed that they'd stopped taking in the milk. The house is abandoned, but all their things are still there. They just — vanished."

"Bloody hell!" said Ronnie. "What about your cousin?"

"Dudley? He's at Smeltings. You know, that boarding school he goes to. Nothing's happened to him, except he broke a window or something when they wouldn't let him run out and look for his parents." Harry grimaced. "Apparently he's blaming  _the freaks."_

"You think —?"

"—that some wizard found them, yeah," said Ginny with a grimace. "Reckon Harry's cousin has got it right there."

"Well — if if a wizard  _did_ find them and kill them, you can't say they didn't deserve it," said Fay. As everyone looked at her, she blushed and continued, a little defensively: "Everyone knows that they tortured Harry!"

A lot of the other students nodded.

"Treated him like a slave," one nodded.

"Beat him every night," said another.

 _"Whipped_ him, I heard!" said a third. "Then locked him up in a cupboard!"

"And then," said Dean with more than a trace of sarcasm, "they made him get up in the morning at ten o'clock at night, half an hour before he went to bed, and drink a cup of sulphuric acid before he'd go work twenty-nine hours a day down at the mill — and when he got home, his Uncle would kill him and dance on his grave, singing Hallelujah!" He looked around and groaned at the number of shocked stares he got. "Come  _on!_  Monty Python? No?"

"Maybe this isn't the time, Dean," said Seamus with uncharacteristic tactfulness.

"Look," said Dean, sounding slightly peeved, "the point  _is_ that those stories in the  _Daily Prophet_  were a load of tosh! I know you all think Muggles are a lot of uncivilized brutes who should be put down —" ("No, we don't!" a couple of students protested, just a tad too quickly) "— but those stories are just stupid! As if anyone would make their nephew sleep in a  _cupboard!"_

Harry opened his mouth, but then closed it again.

 _"Obviously_  nobody's been whipping Harry to within an inch of his life," said Hermione, coming to his rescue. "Harry's relatives were, I mean  _are_ , terrible guardians who shouldn't have been allowed anywhere near him, but don't you think it would have been discovered by someone if they'd tried to  _murder_ him?"

"Hah!" said one of the older students. "Muggles,  _noticing_ things? They're all like sleepwalkers! My Dad says that if Harry's relatives were torturing him out in the open, not a single Muggle would notice anything!"

A number of Muggle-born students protested at this, and within seconds everyone was shouting.

"My Mum's a Muggle Professor in Mathematics, she's ten times smarter than  _you!"_

"Oh yeah? If your Mum's so smart, why isn't she a witch?"

 _"My_  Mum says that Potter's relatives just show what monsters all Muggles are!"

Ronnie was speechless. The growing anti-Muggle sentiment among the  _adult_ wizards was of course something she had witnessed, with all the letters, the newspaper articles, and of course the treatment of Hermione's parents at Diagon Alley — but it had never even crossed her mind that such thoughts would transfer to kids her own age, and certainly not to kids in  _Gryffindor._ Muggle-hatred was something you found in Malfoy and Slytherins like that, not in, well, not in Gryffindors. Not in people she'd always thought were decent.

But here they were, an alarming number of students she knew, yelling about how Muggles were monsters an deserved to die. A few Muggle-borns, like Dean, were protesting loudly, but weirdly enough even a few of them looked uncertain. To her relief, none of her family were yelling; even Percy looked too astonished to say anything. Likewise, Neville, Hermione and Harry remained silent (though Harry was hiding his face in his hands), and a handful of others, like Colin Creevey and the rest of the first-years, looked ready to bolt and hide in their dormitories.

"—but Professor Flamel said that Muggles were more important than wizards, remember?"

"Flamel's a nutter, and so are you, if you believe that!"

"I tell you, Potter's relatives were scum, but all Muggles aren't like that!"

"You're just making excuses for them!"

"The  _Daily Prophet_  is right, we should all go out and show those Muggles that we won't stand for them anymore!"

"That's Mugglism, that is!"

"There's no such word as Mugglism, you clod!"

"Oh,  _excuse_ me, is my  _inferior Muggle upbringing_ showing?!"

"If you love Muggles so much, why don't you just go and f—"

A loud, sharp BANG echoed through the room. Everyone stopped yelling and stared wide-eyed at Neville, who stood there with his wand raised, its tip still smoking slightly from the spell he had fired off.

The boy's round face was white and his eyes bulging, and he was breathing so hard that Ronnie worried he was having a fit or something. "You —  _you should be ashamed of yourselves!"_  he screamed, his voice cracking and getting high-pitched. "Are you even listening to yourselves?!  _Muggles are monsters?_  Why don't you all just go join You-Know-Who and be  _done_ with it?"

The common room was completely silent. This was  _Neville Longbottom._ Neville Longbottom did  _not_ get angry and start yelling at people. It was like a natural law had just been broken or something.

"And why don't you think about Harry?!" Neville yelled, still white as a sheet. "The Muggles were his  _family!_ Never mind how awful they were! Standing here in front of him and saying they deserved to die...! Don't you think he has enough to worry about without this, this  _bloody nonsense?!_ Last week it was 'Gryffindors stick together' and now —" He had to stop in order to take several deep breaths. "I just — think — you should be — more — considerate," he finished, his voice sinking to a more normal level.

Complete silence fell, and for a few moments the only sound audible in the common room was Neville's heavy breathing.

Harry was the first one to break out of the stupor. He raised himself and very carefully patted the still-heavily-breathing Neville awkwardly on the shoulder. "Thank you, Neville," he said. "But, you know, I  _am_ fine."

Neville looked at him.

After a moment, Harry looked away. "Well, all right. Maybe I'm not  _that_ fine." He blinked, as if surprised at himself. "I always hated the Dursleys. They were never anything but awful to me, but... I suppose I never really wanted them to  _die_. I just wanted to get away from them..." he trailed off, and then looked at the gathered room.

Most of the students, at least the ones who had screamed the loudest, had the good graces to look sheepish. There were a few mutterings of "Sorry..." Some of them even sounded sincere.

"But you don't  _know_ that they're dead, right?" said Colin, Official Ray Of Sunshine. "They're probably just kidnapped by some villain or something, and locked up somewhere! Any day now, there'll be a ransom demand!"

"I wouldn't hold my breath," said Ginny darkly.

The students were starting to relax a little. Neville was still pale, his hands shaking a bit, but he didn't say anything more. Ronnie supposed it took some time to stop being that angry.

Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around him. "That was some speech."

He stiffened and took in a sharp breath, surprised at the sudden hug, but he softened when he saw it was her. "I'm sorry," he said in a quiet voice. "I didn't mean you."

"Don't you dare say you're sorry for that," she whispered, so that nobody else would hear her. "You said what needed to be said. I'm proud of you."

It was amazing how fast Neville's colour changed from pale white to an embarrassed red, so Ronnie let go of him, deciding that the hug had probably gone on long enough. Besides, people were starting to talk again, and she wanted to hear what was being said.

"— It's not like the wizarding world in general made it a secret what they'd like to do to Harry's relatives, is it?" said George. "All those letters we got! It was just a matter of time before someone found out where they lived."

 _And the wanker from Gringotts,_ Ronnie thought, and could see in Hermione's eyes that the same thought had struck her.  _He looked angry enough to do something horrible._

"But you don't have the slightest idea who might be behind this, Harry?" said Hermione quietly.

But Harry just shrugged, and even Ronnie could understand how impossible it would be to even begin guessing. Even taking into account that most of the letter-writers were probably all talk and no action, it wasn't easy to say just which of the hundreds of letters were written by people who were serious about taking revenge on the abusive Muggles on Harry's behalf. Or, chilling thought, who would be serious about doing something nasty to the Weasleys for their supposed using of Harry? Mum and Dad would be okay, wouldn't they...?

Fred seemed to have had the same thought. "Suppose we're next," he said. "They weren't too fond of us either."

"Don't even joke about that!" Percy snapped.

"Who's joking?" Fred muttered, though his tone was not very convincing.

Ronnie edged herself closer to Harry. He looked like he needed a hug as well, but she knew him well enough to know that he would never in a million years ask for one or initiate one. But she had hugged Neville, so she might as well...

She wrapped her arms around him very gently. Unlike Neville, he didn't stiffen; he just turned his head sightly and looked at her from behind his glasses, and a very slight smile touched his lips.

They stayed like this for quite some time. Ronnie wanted to say something, something encouraging and comforting, but she really had no clue what that might be.

Finally, as the silence started to get awkward, she drew a breath. "Harry, do you know anyone named Wormtail?"

And then she blinked at herself. Whatever she had meant to say, she was pretty certain  _that_ wasn't it. Yes, she had wanted to know, and it did seem important, but this didn't really seem the time, did it?

Harry, who clearly hadn't expected a question like that either, blinked as well. "What?"

Quite unexpectedly, Fred and George were all of a sudden right by them. "Did you say Wormtail?" they chorused in almost perfect unison.

Ronnie couldn't believe her ears. She stared at her brothers with what she suspected was probably a rather stupid look on her face. "You know who Wormtail is?"

 _"You_ know who Wormtail is?" said Fred.

 _"I_ don't know who Wormtail is," said Harry, with a very poorly-hidden hint that he wished someone would make him a little less ignorant about the subject.

"The question is," said Fred, "how does our dear sister know?" He frowned at Ronnie. "You haven't been spying on us, have you?"

"Spying?!" Ronnie blinked. "You mean you two go gallivanting off with Lockhart's gay lover?!"

A loud gasp rang through the common room.

"Lockhart's _what?!"_  said George.

Then, all at once, everyone was talking again, but this time it wasn't all angry yells. Five different girls, including Fay and Parvati, began telling Ronnie to stop making up such accusations about Lockhart, while Lavender smiled wolfishly and wanted to know if this gay lover was as good-looking as Lockhart. Ginny and a number of the boys were laughing hysterically, Percy and Hermione were both telling everyone to be quiet but not getting much attention.

"Ronnie, what the hell are you talking about?" George shouted over the din. "Wormtail and Lockhart?"

"Would have thought he'd have better taste in blokes than that," said Fred, and then added, almost inaudibly thanks to the commotion. "All right, I didn't really think he was the sort to go for the blokes in the first place, but — _Lockhart?"_

"Not everybody has good taste when it comes to love," said George. "I do seem to remember a certain twin brother of mine who once was moaning about a certain Hufflepuff girl, who —"

"All right, point taken." Fred suddenly looked around at the gathered Gryffindors. "Don't you people have dormitories to go to?" he said.

The commotion was starting to die down. A few students were still talking, but they were starting to split up into groups like they usually did in the common room; there didn't seem to be any more shocking revelations and Fred's words seemed to be the cue for the crowd to break up. Not, of course, to the dormitories, but to separate parts of the common room; everyone seemed eager to discuss all that had occurred with their closest friends.

Soon enough, Potter's Gang were almost alone again — well, apart from Fred, George, Ginny and Percy, all of whom were determined to stay; as well as Colin, who never seemed capable of taking a hint that perhaps he should go elsewhere for a little while. Maybe it was out of concern, or maybe he just thought this was an exciting game or something, but he stayed close to Harry. Even more surprisingly, Lavender stayed as well, instead of going off with Parvati like she usually did.

Percy looked at Fred, George and Ronnie. "All right, you three," he said. "Who is this Wormtail, and how do you know him?"

"We don't!" said Fred.

"Never met him in our lives," George agreed.

"But —" Ronnie sputtered. "You said —! Didn't you just say—?!"

 _"Drop it,_ Ronnie! Never you mind what we said!" Fred paused, and then leant in close to ask, in a low voice: "Actually, if  _you_ know him, I mean personally..."

"...could you introduce us?" said George, joining his twin.

All her life, Ronnie had thought she understood Fred and George fairly well. They were clowns, true enough, but usually their antics or their banter had some kind of logic behind them. They might occasionally get secretive when they didn't want you to know what they were getting up to, but they never got totally incomprehensible. Until now.

 _"What?"_  was all she could say.

"Right, right," said George, holding his hands out in a disarming way. "Not the time, of course not. Not with Harry's situation and all. Forget we asked."

"Yeah," Fred sighed reluctantly. "I suppose it should wait until a more appropriate time. Exploding Snap?" he said, turning to George.

"Sure, why not," George answered. "Let's see if Lee's up for a round. If you people need us for anything, we'll be over here," he added as he and Fred moved away from the group.

Percy opened and closed his mouth a few times. Then, he straightened his glasses and got a determined look on his face. "Oh, no!" he snapped, hurrying after the twins in his most blustery manner. "You two aren't getting off the hook  _that_ easily! This time I demand an answer!"

Ronnie watched him hurry off after the twins. Then, she slowly turned to the rest of Potter's Gang. "Is it just me, or does nothing today make any sense?!"

"Maybe because  _you're_ not making any sense," said Ginny. "Who is Wormtail? Did you walk in on him and Lockhart —" (and here she stifled a giggle) "— _shagging_ or something?"

"That's not funny!" said Hermione in a disapproving tone. "And what are  _you_ still doing here?" she snapped at Lavender.

Lavender, who had been giggling at Ginny's comment, stopped and looked hurt. "It's my common room just as much as it is yours," she said. "I have just as much right to stay here as you do. Besides —" and her wolfish grin returned. "I wanted to hear about Lockhart's gay lover. Is he handsome?"

"Merlin's  _arse_ , Lavender!" Ronnie groaned. "We're  _twelve!"_

"Says the girl who has been  _keeping an eye_ on him." Lavender began giggling again. "And I'm not the one who says 'arse' every five minutes."

"Could we talk about something else?" said Harry hurriedly.  _"Anything_ else?"

"Anything else is good!" Neville agreed.

"What are we talking about  _now?"_  said Colin.

 _"Boys,"_  Lavender laughed.  _"So_ immature." But then she seemed to regret this, and stroked back her long hair while looking apologetically at Harry. "I'm sorry, there I go again, speaking without thinking. You probably don't want to hear this now, with your relatives and all. You know," (and this was directed to Neville) "I don't  _really_ think Muggles are monsters. I just think they're silly. Not in a bad way!" she hurried to add. "In a — in a  _cute_ way. Cuddly."

 _"Cuddly,"_ said Harry in a deadpan voice.

"Lavender, have you even  _met_ any Muggles?" said Hermione.

"Of course! Lots of them! Well, one or two. It's possible one of them was a Squib," Lavender reluctantly admitted.

"What's a Squib?" Harry and Colin both chorused, earning themselves surprised looks from most of the ones present. Harry especially was surprising; he was so much at home in the wizarding world now that it was easy to forget that he had only actually known about it for little over a year. That is, until something like this happened and he turned out to be completely ignorant about things everyone knew, like Squibs.

"Er, it's like a Muggle-born in reverse," said Ginny. "Magical parents, but they don't have any magic themselves."

"I thought all people without magic were called ' _Muggles_ '!" said Colin, trying to keep up.

"Yes, unless they're Squibs, in which case they're called  _'Squibs'_!"

"All right, so what about animals that don't have any magic, is there a name for them too?"

"Don't be silly! Animals are just animals, magic or not!"

It was at this point Lavender decided to ignore the discussion between the two first-years and instead turned back to Ronnie. "All right, I'll leave you to your, er, discussions. But!" (She pointed at Ronnie.) "Tonight, in the dormitory, I want  _all_ the details about Lockhart!"

With that, and without waiting for an answer, she skipped off — no doubt to go and find Parvati.

There was a brief silence. Even Colin and Ginny stopped talking.

"...Arse," said Ronnie. She had enough on her mind without having to worry about talking to the silliest girl in Gryffindor about the biggest ponce among the teachers.

Hermione, however, had other concerns. "This," she said, "is exactly what I've been saying! This is what we get for isolating ourselves from the Muggle world! Pure-bloods like Lavender don't know  _anything_ about Muggles, so they end up  _believing_ anything!"

"I didn't know so many people hated Muggles that much," said Neville, echoing what Ronnie had thought. "Not before today, anyway. I mean, yeah, all those people who wrote letters to the  _Prophet_  and all, but... not Gryffindors. Not people we  _know."_

Hermione made a grimace, shoeing her large front teeth. "Ignorance breeds hatred."

"It's true," said Harry. "I'm still ignorant about who Wormtail is, and I'm really starting to hate the fact that nobody wants to tell me."

"How can you joke about —" Hermione began, but Ronnie cut her off.

"Sorry, Harry, I'll tell you what happened. Er, got your Invisibility Cloak too."

"Oh. Thanks."

"Hermione," said Ronnie, turning to the still-frowning girl, "Remember last year when you made that list with all the questions that we didn't know the answers to?"

"Yes?"

"Think you can do it again? We just got a whole lot of questions, and not a lot of answers."

Hermione sighed. "Don't be silly. Last year we didn't have any opportunity to sit down and talk about those questions. Nobody's stopping us from doing it _now."_

"And Fred and George know something," said Ginny. "How about we start with them?"

 

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know, we already know the answers to a lot of the questions from canon, such as the identity of Wormtail, how Fred and George know the name, things like that. And with that in mind it's easy to get frustrated with the characters for not figuring out the stuff that we, the audience, know when the clues are so obvious. But let's be lenient with Potter's Gang here; after all they don't have the luxury of knowing what to look for because they've read the books.
> 
> Besides, I hope that there are enough original questions here to keep the interest, like what happened to Vernon and Petunia, and that not all the answers are too obvious.
> 
> And finally: I know, Ronnie's "sex slave" conclusion was ridiculous. But can't you just see Molly Weasley reading romance trash novels where such things might occur? And hiding them from her children? And of course said children finding and reading them anyway?


	9. Honourless Scum?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the chapter titles write themselves... you'll see what I mean.

"All right," said Fred, in a tone not altogether unlike Percy's when he thought he was saying something important. "George and I have been talking, and we've decided to exchange Wormtail information with you."

It was Saturday, a few days after Ronnie's disastrous spy attempt on Lockhart. Fred and George had after some discussion agreed to talk about Wormtail. So now they were in the fourth-year boys' dormitory — Fred and George, Ronnie, the rest of Potter's Gang, and (because nobody had been able to convince either of them to stay away) Ginny and Colin.

Ronnie had never visited any of the boys' dorms before, but now that she was here she found that they didn't seem very different from the girls' dorms; the same type of four-poster beds, the same heavy red curtains both around the beds and in front of the windows. Some of the personal décor was different — for instance, none of the fourth-year boys seemed to have Lavender's obsession with the colour pink or tendency to put up posters of handsome boys — but it was a little funny to discover that on the wall beside Lee Jordan's bed hung the exact same Puddlemere United Quidditch poster that Fay Dunbar had beside  _her_ bed in Ronnie's dorm.

"It wasn't an easy decision to make," George went on. "For almost four years now, Fred and I have been the only ones who knew about this. We haven't even told Lee about it. So letting all of you in on the secret —"

"But needs must, and all that," said Fred. "But what we're about to show you, you don't tell  _anyone_ about, got that?"

"Even if they're family," George shot in.

"And _especially_ if they're Percy," Fred added. "That goes double for you two." (And here, he looked at both Ronnie and Ginny.) "Breathe a word about this to him, or to Mum, and our vengeance will be gruesome and merciless. Got that?"

Ginny just snorted, but Ronnie felt indignant. "We're no squealers!" she said.

"Then you have nothing to worry about," said Fred lightly. "And if you should be tempted, then keep in mind that our vengeance will be —"

"Gruesome and merciless, yeah, you said," Ronnie grumbled.

"Yes, but don't you want to know what kind of vengeance it'll be? If you, dear Veronica, ever reveal this Map to Mum or Percy, then George and I —" (he paused for effect here) " — will start  _calling you only by your middle name._  In front of everyone."

Ronnie's heart nearly stopped. "You wouldn't!"

"Keep quiet, and you won't have to find out if we would," said Fred.

"I didn't even know you had a middle name," said Harry.

_"Let's keep pretending I don't, okay?"_  Ronnie growled. She had almost managed to forget that damn middle name.

Colin looked curious. "What _is_ your —?" he began, only to  shut his mouth when she glared at him.

"Right, now that that's settled," said Fred, "I should probably add: no pictures either!"

Colin, whom this last part had been addressed in, shook his head. "I don't have my camera," he said — and it was true that his robe pocket wasn't bulging the way it usually was. "I lent it to Lavender. She's really interested in photography, you know! She said she wanted to take pictures of —"

"I can imagine what she wanted to take pictures of," Ronnie groaned. "If our dorm walls become flooded with posters of that ponce Lockhart, or naked boys from the shower, I'm blaming  _you."_

"Could we...  _not_ talk about this?" said Neville, who had gone rather red.

Fred shook his head. "Okay, George, will you do the honours?"

"Gladly! This, children, is the secret of our success." George pulled something out of his robe, and with what looked like great reverence held it up for everyone to see.

It was a very large, and very blank, piece of parchment.

For a moment, everything was silent. Then, Hermione scoffed. "That's not funny!" she said.  _"Parchment_ is your great secret?"

"Hate to break it to you," said Ronnie, "but the entire school uses it!"

"And what does Wormtail have to do with any of this?" Harry demanded.

Fred and George both stared at them as if they had said something unbelievably stupid.

"Bet it's not normal parchment," said Colin, who somehow managed to look even more excited than normal. "Bet it's special parchment with, with all kinds of hidden secrets to it!"

Fred grinned.  _"Finally_  someone says something intelligent!" he said, clapping Colin on the back. "I was starting to despair at the ignorance displayed by the younger generation, but it seems there's still hope for Gryffindor! George, show them!"

And George, still holding up the parchment for them all to see, took out his wand and lightly tapped the centre of the parchment with it.  _"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!"_  he said in an over-dramatic voice.

At once, the parchment reacted. From the point where George's wand had touched it, thin lines of many-coloured ink appeared and began spreading out in complicated patterns, criss-crossing and flourishing, until they formed elaborate letters that spelled out, all across the top:

_Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs_  
_Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers_

_are proud to present_

_**THE MARAUDER'S MAP** _

It was a map of Hogwarts and the grounds surrounding it. But not just any map;  _this_ map was busting with life. Small ink dots were moving all around it, each one labelled with minuscule writing. Astounded, Ronnie leaned forward and saw that the labels were names; there was Professor Dumbledore in his office, together with Fawkes and Nicolas Flamel, there was Filch with his cat, Mrs. Norris, chasing Peeves down a fifth-floor corridor, there was Luna Lovegood, by the kitchen... and, there, in the fourth-year boys' dorms, Ronnie saw her own name, grouped together with Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Colin, Fred and George.

"It shows where everyone in the school is!" Neville said, sounding awed.

"Not only that," said George. "It shows all the secret passages around the school and how to use them. How'd you think we manage to move unseen around the school so much?"

Harry blinked, as if he had suddenly understood something. "Last year!" he exclaimed. "When Voldemort was about and you two insisted on keeping an eye on us! You were always showing up out of nowhere, and always seemed to know exactly how to find us, and I never understood how you  _did_ it...!"

"Now you know," said George. "It was with the help of Moony, Padfoot, Prongs — and Wormtail." He pointed to the names on the map as he said them. "How much do we owe those four. We've learned more from this map than from some of the teachers here at Hogwarts, that's for sure."

"That's how you knew Wormtail's name?" Ronnie didn't quite know how to feel about this. She wasn't even sure what she had expected, really, it was just that... But then another realisation dawned on her. "You've been using this thing to  _spy_ on us!"

"Keep an  _eye_ on you, Ron, keep an  _eye_ on you," said George smoothly. "Big difference."

"Besides," said Fred, "we mostly use it to sneak around the school grounds, or for the occasional extra trip to Hogsmeade, and of course to avoid Filch when he's stalking the corridors. If we occasionally take a glance at it to make sure our younger sisters aren't anywhere they  _shouldn't_ be —"

"We kinda failed you with that incident with the troll," said George. "When we discovered you weren't in the common room, Percy was hovering over us like Mum at her worst, so we couldn't check the Map to see where you were."

"So we may have overcompensated a little afterwards," Fred allowed. "Don't worry, we can only see where people are, not what they're doing or whether they're wearing any clothes or anything like that. So if you were worried someone was going to use it to peep on you in the shower, no need."

Ronnie hadn't even thought about that before he'd mentioned it. "Thank you for that," she muttered.

"Where did you get this, anyway?" said Hermione, who seemed like she couldn't quite decide between being impressed at what was obviously a very impressive piece of magic, or being appalled at how it was being used. "You obviously didn't make it yourselves, since the name Wormtail is on there."

"Right you are," said Fred. "Filch gave it to us, actually."

Everyone stared at him, trying to picture the hateful, grumbling caretaker ever presenting a student with something to aid in mischief. It was impossible to imagine, especially if the student in question was Fred or George.

"All right," Fred admitted. "He may not actually have known that he gave it to us. But really, if he didn't want us to have it, he shouldn't have kept it in a drawer in one of his filing cabinets, clearly marked  _Confiscated and Highly Dangerous._  That's the same as  _asking_ us to take it."

"You  _stole —!"_  Hermione began, shocked.

_"Liberated,"_  Fred corrected her. "It didn't really belong to Filch, and it wasn't doing anyone any good in his filing cabinet."

"Reckon he got it off some students before our time," George added. "We never did find out who Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot or Prongs were —"

"— and we weren't going to ask  _Filch_ about it," said Fred, with a slight grimace, probably at the thought of Filch's reaction to that.

"Right. We did try to ask Flitwick, he's been at school longer than anyone except for Binns and Dumbledore, but he couldn't remember those names," said George. "So we reckoned they must be nicknames. Or code names. Or something."

"And that's  _all_ you know about Wormtail," said Harry. He sounded disappointed.

"Apart from the fact that he was one of the geniuses behind this map, and a friend to all pranksters? 'Fraid so," said George apologetically. "At least it was all we knew until Ronnie came and said she'd actually  _seen_ Wormtail, and that he was going around with Gilderoy Lockhart, of all people."

Ronnie felt herself turn pink.

"What was he like?" said George curiously.

"Er." Ronnie hadn't been very impressed with the small, dumpy, balding figure of Wormtail, but with the levels of respect Fred and George seemed to have for him, she didn't really want to say so. "He was... Well, he was kinda..." She struggled to find a word. For some reason, her brain kept wanting to think of him as  _rat-like,_  even if he hadn't looked like a rat at all. Maybe it was the twitchy movements, or maybe the fact that there had been two rats in a cage next to him. "He looked kinda nervous," she finally said.

"Nervous?" Fred and George exchanged glances. "Are you  _sure_ he was Wormtail?"

"He  _called_ himself Wormtail!" Ronnie stifled a sigh of exasperation. "I couldn't exactly step up to him and ask for his autograph, now could I?"

"Can't we just look him up on the Map now?" said Ginny suddenly.

Everyone turned to look at her. Then, George shook his head. "Wouldn't work. We're pretty sure Wormtail isn't his real name, and nicknames don't show up here on the map. Besides, d'you know how  _many_ names show up here? We'd never be able to pick out the right one!"

"Well, why not?" said Ginny. "If we look at Lockhart's office and see someone in there who isn't Lockhart, then that'll probably be Wormtail, won't it?"

There was another long pause. Then, Fred and George once again looked at one another with dumbfounded expressions.

"She's right," said Fred.

"Obvious if you think about it for more than two seconds," said George.

"Which  _we_ clearly haven't."

"Do you feel half as foolish as I do?"

"Only if you feel twice as foolish as me. Which I doubt is possible."

_"Stop it! This isn't funny!"_  Hermione snapped. (Ronnie wondered briefly if this sudden burst of temper was pure annoyance with the twins, or if it was anger at herself for not having thought of that solution either.) "Can we get  _on_ with it?"

"Er... right, Hermione, whatever you say." It was a testimony to Hermione's glare that George didn't try to make another joke but instead spread the Map out onto his bedstand for them all to see.

It took a short while to locate Lockhart's office on the cluttered Map, but Ronnie finally located it. It was right next to the Defence classroom, where (and this was not really a big surprise) Lavender was lurking, no doubt with Colin's camera, waiting to take a picture of Lockhart whenever he emerged from his office. Or possibly hoping to catch Lockhart and his gay lover in action. Ronnie was seriously starting to doubt that girl's sanity.

Besides, Lockhart wasn't even in his office at the moment. In fact, there was only one dot visible in the office, and that was labelled —

Ronnie stepped back, startled. Next to her, Harry let out a slight yelp of surprise, and Ginny gasped. Even Hermione, Neville, Fred and George and Neville were staring at the name in surprise, one of the last names they would ever have expected to see on a map of Hogwarts.

Colin, the only one who didn't react at all to the unexpected name, leaned in to get a better look. "Lockhart isn't in his office," he announced, quite unnecessarily. "Only someone named Vernon Dursley is! Now we know Wormtail's real name!" He beamed with his normal enthusiasm — and then stopped as he saw the expressions on the others' faces. "What is it?" he said.

But Harry was already out the door.

 

* * *

 

Ronnie caught up with him in the corridor, halfway to Lockhart's office.

She'd realised what he was about to do a fraction of a second before he did it, and had been the first to run after him as he rushed out, only taking the time to shout to the others: "I'll get him! Stay here!"

But the two seconds that had took had given Harry a surprisingly big head start — she'd already known he was a fast, but the speed with which he rushed down the stairs and through the Gryffindor common room had surprised her. Bad luck would have it that just outside the common room she ran into a few third-years entering at the same time as she was exiting, and so she was slowed down further.

But Ronnie had always been the fastest runner in her family, and was able to catch up with her best friend before he could reach Lockhart's office. She managed to grab his wrist and pull him back, pulling him to a halt.

Which of course resulted in him losing his balance and falling over, and dragging her down with him.

For a confused moment they were entangled in each other there on the floor, but then Harry managed to break free. His glasses had fallen off him as he fell and he was squinting to focus on Ronnie. (His eyesight was really bad, she thought.)

"Ronnie," he panted, slightly out of breath. "What are you doing?!"

"Stopping you," she answered, trying to get her own breath under control. "Harry, you know you can't — enter Lockhart's office when he's not — even there! You'll never get in!"

"I'll think of something," said Harry with utter conviction.

"What'll you do? Knock politely on the door and hope your uncle opens and welcomes you with open arms?"

"You don't understand!" said Harry. "My uncle's there, we knew he vanished because of wizards, and if Lockhart's the one who kidnapped him —"

"You don't even  _like_ your uncle!"

"What's  _that_ got to do with anything?!"

"Er —"

Harry looked angry. "I'm supposed to leave him in a kidnapper's hands just because I don't like him? And besides," he added as he thought of another thing, "since when were _you_ worried about rushing in without thinking?"

Ronnie suddenly felt guilty. He was right, of course he was. Besides, she should have known that Harry would never be able to leave someone to their fate if he had any chance at all of saving them. He'd storm off to save anyone in danger without a single thought, no matter if he liked them or not.

"All right, I get it," she said. She picked his glasses up from the floor and handed them to him. "But when I was in Lockhart's office, I didn't see your uncle. I would have recognised —" And then it hit her.  _"The rats!"_

"The rats?"

"Lockhart had two rats in a cage! What if... it's silly, but... what if they're..."

"Shh!" Harry suddenly stiffened, looking around with a startled expression. "Did you hear that?"

Ronnie blinked. "Did I hear what?"

"That!" Harry put his glasses on again and slowly stood up. "That voice!"

Ronnie stood up as well, trying to listen for any unusual voices. She couldn't hear anything other than the normal sounds of Hogwarts; some faint steps of people walking the hallways, the hissing of the plumbing, nothing unusual.

"I can't hear anything," she finally admitted.

Harry looked at her as if he didn't believe her. "But it was so clear!" he said. "A sort of hissing voice, saying..." he paused for a moment and then said in a sort of hissy whisper:  _"I smell blood!"_ His voice turned normal again. "You didn't hear it at all?"

"Well —" She didn't know what to say to that. "Are you still hearing it?"

"No, it's gone now. Maybe I just imagined it. Or maybe it was one of the ghosts having a laugh."

"Or maybe," came a cheerful and malicious voice from above, "Maybe Potty wee Potter is going _insane!"_

Harry and Ronnie both looked up into an evil smirk, surrounded by the wide face of Peeves the Poltergeist, who was floating right above them with a gleeful look.

"Stuff it, Peeves!" said Ronnie angrily. "Go back to playing chase with Filch, why don't you?"

"How rude!" said Peeves with a mock look of wounded innocence. "I was just giving some friendly advice!"

"Peeves," said Harry hurriedly. "Did you hear the voice?"

"Maybe I did and maybe I didn't." Peeves leaned back in the air and crossed his arms behind his head, closing his eyes and looking as obnoxiously careless as only he could. "But if I were you, I'd immediately go to the hospital wing and get my noggin looked at! After all..." he lowered his voice. "It starts with hearing voices that nobody else can hear. Then you start listening to what they tell you. Pretty soon you're dancing on the roof without your drawers —"

"I don't have time for this!" Harry suddenly exploded and broke off into a run again, with Ronnie following close.

_"— And after that, the knives and axes come out!"_ Peeves's cheerful cries grew fainter behind them. _"YOU'RE THIS CLOSE TO BECOMING A MURDERER, POTTER!"_

Stupid Peeves and his stupid pranks, Ronnie thought as she rushed after Harry. Making someone think they were hearing voices — yeah, that was exactly the sort of thing he might do just for a laugh. She felt a lot less guilty for having impersonated him in order to get away from Wormtail. 

She caught up with Harry more quickly this time, and together they sprinted the final bit down to the Defence classroom.

Harry tore the door to the classroom open and rushed in — only to stop so abruptly that Ronnie, unprepared, crashed into him. Once more, they both found themselves on the floor, with Ronnie on top of Harry.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," Ronnie managed to say as she rolled off him. "Would it kill you to say something like _'watch out, I'm gonna stop'_ or —"

_"Ronnie!"_ Harry hissed, getting to his feet with surprising speed. "Look!"

Ronnie looked towards where he was pointing.  _And saw_  —

All thoughts about the embarrassing falls, and even about Lockhart and Harry's uncle, vanished from her mind.

There, on the floor by the staircase that led to Lockhart's office, on her back and clutching Colin's camera, was Lavender. Her eyes were wide and glassy, her mouth half-open as if she had seen something shocking, and she wasn't moving at all.

It wasn't even noon yet, and the sun was shining in trough the window at the back of the classroom, but Ronnie felt as if the world had suddenly grown darker and colder.

In seconds, she and Harry were both over by the motionless Lavender.

"Lavender? _Lavender!"_ Ronnie called desperately, grabbing the girl's shoulder and trying to pull her up, but Lavender was all stiff and weird, and Ronnie could barely budge her. She didn't show any sign that she was aware of Harry or Ronnie's presence — or anything else, for that matter. She was like a statue; lifeless and unmoving.

"She's not breathing!" said Harry. "Ronnie, I think she's — I think she's dead!"

"But she  _can't_  be dead!" Ronnie wailed. "We saw her just at breakfast, and she was giggling about stupid things with Parvati like she always does and —  _Lavender, wake up!"_

No response. Lavender kept staring blindly at nothing. 

Ronnie's vision grew misty. Lavender was annoying, to be sure, and much too obsessed with boys, but — but she was  _Lavender_. She'd been Ronnie's classmate and dorm-mate for over a year. She'd kept Ronnie awake late at night with her constant chatting with Parvati, and then when Ronnie finally fell asleep, had the nerve to wake her up and tell her to stop snoring. She'd driven all her dorm-mates insane with her silly pride over being the first girl in their year who needed a bra, and again when she insisted on giving them all makeovers, with disastrous results. She hadn't wanted to shut up about Lockhart or about boys in general. She had... she had hugged Ronnie a few times, like back in first year after Snape had been particularly horrible...

For the lively, giggly girl to suddenly not be alive anymore, to just lie there and stare up with unseeing eyes... it was... it went against some  _law_ or something. All the other people Ronnie knew who had died had been  _old_ , like uncle Bilious or even Quirrell...

Ronnie suddenly felt something furry brush her hand. She looked up and, through a veil of tears, saw that it was Mrs. Norris, Filch's scrawny, shaggy cat.

It shouldn't really have come as a surprise to see her. Cats were good at walking soundlessly, and Mrs. Norris was a true master of the art of suddenly showing up in places where you wouldn't expect her. This made her unpopular among the students, because Mrs. Norris shared Filch's hatred for students in general and was always on the prowl for someone making mischief that she could alert Filch about. She hadn't even taken to Ronnie; in fact Mrs. Norris was one of the few animals that hadn't instantly adored Ronnie on sight. (It didn't help that Crookshanks had made it clear that he did not like Mrs. Norris, and would growl at her whenever they happened to meet.)

But right now... the cat was rubbing her head against Ronnie's hand, almost like she was trying to comfort her.

"Mrs. Norris," Ronnie managed to say. "Go... go get Filch. Get  _someone_. Get  _anyone_. Just get them to come. Please."

The cat looked at Ronnie with lamp-like yellow eyes. Then, she turned and ran out the room.

"Never seen her take orders from a student like that," said Harry in a soft voice.

Ronnie couldn't keep it in any more. She wrapped her arms around him, and cried.

 

* * *

 

She didn't know how long they sat like that, Harry holding her as she cried. Maybe it was just a few seconds, maybe it was several minutes, but she was suddenly yanked out of her grief by the sound of Colin's voice: "Harry! Harry! We have to tell you -  _what happened here?!"_

Colin and Ginny were both standing in the doorway, staring open-mouthed at the lifeless and unmoving Lavender.

Ronnie tried to get her tears under control for long enough to answer them, but the lump in her throat made it hard to speak. Ginny was over by her at once, brown eyes staring wildly at Lavender and at Harry and Ronnie. "What happened?" she said, echoing Colin.

"We'd better get a teacher," said Colin from the doorway. "Oh, wait, never mind! Here comes four of them now!"

It turned out to be three teachers and one Filch, led by Mrs. Norris. The surly caretaker and his cat entered first, followed in rapid succession by Dumbledore, Flamel and Professor Sprout, who looked slightly out of breath. Dumbledore looked at the Room, at Harry and Ronnie and at Lavender. Her eyes widened in what (if he had been anyone else but Dumbledore) might be called shock.

"Professor Dumbledore," said Harry. "We just came in here, and Lavender was on the floor, and she — she was  —"

"I see." Dumbledore had regained his composure now, and knelt beside Lavender. Without disturbing the camera in her hands, reached out a hand to touch the girl's forehead, then ran a finger through her long, blonde hair. "She's not dead," he announced.

Ronnie's heart skipped a beat. She lifted her face to look at him.

"She has been Petrified," said Dumbledore softly. "Easy to confuse for death at first glance, but she can be revived."

Ronnie let out a breath she hadn't even known she was holding.  _Lavender was alive._ Petrified, yes, but alive.

"How many times," came the sour voice of Filch, "do you students have to be told that duelling is forbidden?" He glared at Harry and Ronnie. "I suppose you think it's a laugh, do you? Petrifying people? And you know who's going to get the job of cleaning up afterwards?!"

"Argus," said Dumbledore. "They did not do this."

"What?!" Filch looked like he didn't believe it.

"Petrifying a human like this would take extremely advanced Dark magic," said Dumbledore. "You would be hard-pressed to find an adult wizard who could do it, let alone students under the age of thirteen."

_Or,_  Ronnie thought with horror,  _someone with You-Know-Who's diary could have done it. Bet that thing has tons of Dark magic in it._

If the same thought struck Dumbledore, he didn't show it. Instead, he just continued: "Now, I would like you to go fetch Madam Pomfrey. Miss Brown should be brought up to the hospital wing. Immediately, if you please."

Filch sagged like a balloon that someone's let the air out of. "Yes, Headmaster," he said in a subdued voice. Then he turned and walked out of the room, Mrs. Norris following him.

"Well,  _someone_ must have done this," said Professor Sprout, looking down at Lavender. "People don't just go and spontaneously Petrify for no good reason."

"Lockhart," said Harry. "We're outside his office — she was probably here to take pictures of him — Professor Dumbledore, he's got my uncle in his office!"

Silence, as all three teachers stared at him.

"No, he doesn't," said Colin. "That's what we came to tell you. Your uncle left the office just before you came here. He just walked right through the wall, but Hermione said that Hogwarts has a lot of secret doors and hidden passages, so it could simply be one of them, and then he ran down a second-floor corridor, and Hermione and Neville and Fred and George went to find him, while Ginny and I —"

_"Monsieur_  Creevey," said Flamel. "Would you kindly tell us what on Earth you are talking about? The uncle of  _Monsieur_ Potter, here at Hogwarts?"

Ginny glared at Colin, who opened and shut his mouth a few times, looking a lot like he was trying to do an impression of a goldfish. Apparently it had just dawned on him that he was this close to blabbing about the Marauder's Map in front of three teachers.

"We will have to wait until later to ask just how Mister Creevey came by this information," said Dumbledore. "For now, the important question is — are you certain that it was indeed Vernon Dursley?"

"It was  _someone_ named Vernon Dursley," said Harry.

"And where is Professor Lockhart? Does anyone know?"

Professor Sprout snorted, her normally-pleasant face contorting in a grimace. "The last time I saw him was when he came down to the greenhouses to give me some 'helpful hints' about the proper potting of Mandrakes. I told him in no uncertain terms that I had potted Mandrakes since before he'd even held a wand. Good thing too, because it seems like we'll need Mandrakes for some Restorative Draught." She looked at Lavender with a worried expression.

"I have not seen  _Monsieur_ Lockhart for quite some time," said Professor Flamel. "He seems to be avoiding me, for some reason."

"Some people are lucky," Sprout murmured, and then looked shocked at herself for having said that.

"Well," said Dumbledore, "We do not have the time to go looking for Professor Lockhart at the moment. Let us concentrate on Harry's uncle. If he is indeed at Hogwarts, then he must be found. Perhaps he can shed some light on this mystery."

He looked down at the Petrified Lavender.

She stared blindly back at him.

 

* * *

 

But the search for Vernon Dursley turned out to be fruitless. Fred, George, Hermione and Neville could inform that they had managed to follow him on the Marauder's Map for a while — he'd managed to get from the second floor and all the way up to the seventh floor before they could reach him, but by then he'd completely and inexplicably vanished off the face of the Map.

The weird thing was that he had passed by several students, but when Hermione had asked if anyone had seen a fat man with a moustache run past, they'd all looked at her like she was weird and informed her that no, they hadn't.

Vernon Dursley was gone. If he had ever been there in the first place. Fred and George swore up and down that the Map didn't lie, but...

And when Lockhart was finally located, it turned out that he hadn't been near his office all morning. He'd, in fact, spent the last few hours with Hagrid, trying to find out what had killed the rooster in the school hen coop.

"Hagrid thought it might be a fox, or possibly a Blood-Sucking Bugbear," said Lockhart when Dumbledore asked him about it. "I wouldn't dream of saying that he was wrong, of course, or call his expertise limited, but I think he fails to see all the possibilities; it could just as easily be a particularly vicious Knarl, or even a Diricawl having developed a taste for blood. But I gave him some tips on how to secure the hen coop more properly. He was very grateful."

"I'm certain he was," said Dumbledore diplomatically.

"As for this Vernon Dursley," Lockhart continued, "well, I'll gladly admit that, contrary to the current popular opinion, I have nothing against Muggles," he said. "But I certainly haven't kept one in my office! That would be a bit of an odd thing to do, wouldn't it?"

"Well, what about your rats?!" said Ronnie stubbornly.

"What  _about_  my rats?" said Lockhart, completely failing to ask how she knew that he kept rats in the first place. "I keep a couple of rats because rats are very fascinating and intelligent creatures! I have a theory that they can sense Dark magic, so I'm studying them to find out if it's true! It's a little side-project I've got going! There's more to me than good looks and an award-winning smile, you know!"

"And what about Wormtail?" said Ronnie.

"Wormtail?" Lockhart looked even more nonplussed.

"Your gay lover?!"

"I say!" Lockhart's otherwise perfectly-formed eyes bulged. "Aren't you a little too young for such...  _fantasies?_ I realise of course that some girls develop earlier, and far be it from me to deny anyone the obvious pleasure of fantasising about me, but at least have the good taste to keep such fantasies inside your own head where they belong!"

"I wasn't fantasising —" Ronnie began, and then gave up, because the pink colour she had turned probably suggested otherwise. (Stupid blush! Why did it have to showcase so blatantly whenever she found something even slightly embarrassing?)

"Quite preposterous!" said Lockhart. "I have —" suddenly he paused, as if he was trying to think of something, but then he shrugged it off. "No, young lady, I don't know anyone named 'Wormtail' and if I had a gay lover, then you'd think I'd know about it, wouldn't you? Dumbledore, I  _must_  protest at this girl's insinuations. "

"You will consent to another thorough search of your office, then?" said Dumbledore calmly.

"Certainly!" Lockhart spread his arms. "I have nothing to hide! Unless, of course, you want to know if my hair is really this colour. There are five people in the world who know the answer to that, and I'm one of them." He smiled roguishly. "A man needs to keep some mystery about him, after all."

And that, apparently, was that. Lockhart's office was searched, with Dumbledore himself leading the search, but there was no sign of Vernon Dursley or of Wormtail — or, for that matter, of You-Know-Who's diary.

As for the rats, they were apparently just that — completely normal rats. Both Dumbledore and Hagrid had examined them (though Ronnie had not been allowed anywhere near, as Lockhart seemed annoyed with her) and concluded that there was nothing out of the ordinary about them. And as Hermione said, if the Headmaster and the gamekeeper couldn't find anything out of the ordinary about a rat even after a thorough examination, then there probably wasn't anything to find out.

So, that, apparently, was it for Ronnie's theory about the rats being Harry's Transfigured aunt and uncle.

Still, she was _certain_ that they were missing something. There was some detail here that she wasn't seeing, that she should be seeing. Something that she'd forgotten or not noticed. Even if the rats were just normal rats, Wormtail  _had_ been in Lockhart's office, as had someone named Vernon Dursley. (Maybe Wormtail's real name just happened to be "Vernon Dursley"? If it was, Ronnie couldn't blame him for wanting to go by another name, even if this name was "Wormtail.")

In desperation, she tried asking Crookshanks to locate Wormtail, or failing that, Vernon Dursley. But something was off there too — the cat willingly enough led Potter's Gang to the seventh-floor corridor where Hermione had said Vernon Dursley had last been seen on the map, but once they got there, Crookshanks just kept pacing up and down it, meowing in confusion and frustration.

He seemed particularly interested in and frustrated by the section where a tapestry hung on the wall depicting Barnabas the Barmy's famous (and futile) attempt at teaching ballet to a group of trolls. But there was nothing strange about the tapestry that any of Potter's Gang could see, and it didn't appear to be hiding any doors or secret passages either (at least none that showed up on the Marauder's Map).

In the end, even Ronnie had to face it: Somehow, Wormtail and Vernon had managed to hide even from Crookshanks's sharp half-Kneazle instincts.

"I'm starting to think," Ronnie said as they walked back to Gryffindor Tower with Crookshanks in tow, "that  _Wormtail's_ the one who has You-Know-Who's diary."

Hermione looked sceptical. "First you accuse Lockhart, and now you accuse Wormtail?"

"I'm not saying Lockhart is innocent!" Ronnie said. "If he had the diary, then gave it to Wormtail, that would make sense, wouldn't it! Wormtail could use all the secrets and Dark magic in the book to Petrify Lavender  _and_ to hide from Crookshanks! He could even have kidnapped your aunt and uncle, Harry!"

The rest of Potter's Gang exchanged glances. Harry looked contemplative, but Hermione looked doubtful and Neville looked confused.

"But," the round-faced boy said. "What I don't get is why he'd do any of these things? What possible use could he have of Harry's relatives? Or, for that matter, why would he Petrify Lavender?"

"I dunno, maybe he just gets off on Petrifying girls?" said Ronnie.

"You are so  _disgusting_ sometimes," Hermione muttered.

"Or!" Ronnie continued, ignoring her. "Maybe Lavender saw something she shouldn't have, and he had to get her out of the way, until... until  _something_ happens, something he needs more time to prepare for!"

"Like what?" Hermione demanded.

"I don't know! Something! Why am I the only one who theorises here?  _You_ think of something for once!"

Hermione huffed.

"Could explain why Colin's camera was destroyed," Harry suddenly said. "If she got a picture of whatever it was..."

"Mmm," Hermione said non-committally. "I suppose. Or it could simply have been a side-effect of whatever it was that Petrified her."

They walked in silence for a bit.

Lavender had been taken up to the hospital wing by Madam Pomfrey and now lay in a bed, staring blindly up at the ceiling, her hands still clutching around the empty space where Colin's camera had been. Dumbledore had taken the camera off her, in the hope that she might have managed to get a picture of whatever had Petrified her, but it turned out that the interior of the camera had melted beyond all repair.

Colin had been a little upset about his camera, but all in all he decided that Lavender was more important. "I can get a new camera," he'd said in a surprisingly philosophical tone, "but Gryffindor could never get a new Lavender."

And it was true that Lavender's absence did lay a bit of a damper on the Gryffindors' spirits. Or perhaps it was just that Ronnie noticed it more, as one of Lavender's dorm-mates... what was certain was that the second-year girl's dorm, even with five girls still left, felt strangely empty without Lavender.

And it didn't help that the normally cheerful and chatty Parvati spent most her time moping. She had been almost inseparable from Lavender ever since they had been sorted into Gryffindor, and the absence was clearly felt especially strongly by her. Fay tried her best to cheer her up, but since Fay's method of cheering people up involved talking at length about Quidditch (something that Parvati was only moderately interested in), it didn't really help.

While Dumbledore had assured them that Lavender could be revived, it turned out to be a little more complicated than hoped: Of the few ways of reviving a Petrified person the only one that didn't carry the risk of killing the unfortunate victim was a careful application of the Mandrake Restorative Draught.

This in and of itself wouldn't have been a problem, as the draught wasn't too hard to make and Flamel, as the resident Potions master, was more than up to the task. No, the problem was that the draught needed  _fresh_ Mandrake root, and Mandrakes weren't exactly native to Britain and difficult to get ahold of.

Now, as luck would have it, Professor Sprout had recently acquired a batch of Mandrakes for the Hogwarts greenhouses (and Ronnie knew this positively since the first Herbology lesson of the year had consisted of re-potting the creepy, disgusting, screaming plants) — but as  _bad_ luck would have it, these Mandrakes were just seedlings and it would take months before they were mature enough to be used in any kind of potion or draught.

When the students had protested that Lavender couldn't stay like this for  _months_ , Dumbledore had promised that he would do all he could to find a quicker solution. They could tell that he wasn't optimistic about it, though.

Potter's gang had almost reached Gryffindor tower, when all of a sudden Luna Lovegood appeared at the end of the corridor.

For some inexplicable reason the girl was carrying a bundle of black cloth, and her expression was so dreamy that for a moment or two Ronnie thought that she was sleepwalking or in some kind of trance — but when she saw Potter's Gang, her expression cleared up and she hurried towards them.

"Hello, Veronica!" she said. "Hello, Veronica's friends! Hello, Veronica's cat!"

"Hi, Luna," said Ronnie, the other members of Potter's Gang adding their greetings as well. "Er... I've told you that you can call me 'Ronnie,' haven't I?"

"Oh, yes," Luna nodded. "But I haven't earned it yet, you know."

"What do you mean, you haven't —?"

"I've been looking for you," said Luna, holding the bundle of cloth out to Ronnie. "Here. Thank you for letting me borrow them."

Ronnie was about to ask what Luna was talking about, but then she recognised the robes she had lent to Luna (or, more accurately, the robes that Hermione had lent to Luna on Ronnie's behalf) back at the Hogwarts Express. She'd forgotten all about them. "Oh," she said. "Oh, right. You're welcome. No problem."

"Er — enjoying Hogwarts so far, Luna?" said Neville, apparently unable to think of anything else to say.

"Oh, yes!" Luna's eyes shone. "The Hufflepuff common room has all sorts of interesting plants in it, and everyone's been so nice and helpful." Her face fell a little. "I haven't found the Nargles yet, though."

"Oh, er, well, never mind?" said Neville. "You, er, have seven years to discover them, I'm sure you'll —"

_"There's no such thing as Nargles!"_ Hermione snapped.

Luna looked at her with an expression of mild fascination. "Now you sounded exactly like Mr. Filch," she said. "When I asked him where the Nargles were, because I thought the caretaker would know these things, he said there weren't any, and when I —"

"Well, nice talking to you, Luna!" said Ronnie, who saw that Hermione's look of annoyance was turning into anger. "But we'd better get going!"

"Wait!" said Luna. "There was something else! This was in your pocket, and I wanted to ask what it was." She held up what looked like a necklace of some sort; a sharp animal tooth with strange golden designs on it, hanging on a thin, dark leather string.

Ronnie stopped, blinking. She'd forgotten about  _that_ too. "That's my Warning Fang!" she said.

"Is that what it is?" said Luna, looking in wonder at the Fang. "It grows very hot sometimes, you know, for no reason. Well, probably not for  _no_ reason, it probably makes perfect sense to  _it_ to grow hot when it does, but I haven't been able to find out why it does."

"It's a warning sign," said Harry. "It supposed to grow hot when danger approaches."

Ronnie nodded. The Warning Fangs had been a gift to Potter's Gang from Mad-Eye Moody, but they were more annoying than helpful, as they weren't capable of distinguishing between different types of danger and would get equally hot when, say, Draco Malfoy came around and tried to trip you, as it did when You-Know-Who appeared in front of you. Still, it was the painful heat of Harry's Warning Fang pressed against her forehead that had snapped her out of it when —  _No. No, don't think about that. Don't think about the Imperius._

"When does it grow hot?" said Harry. "Have you noticed?"

"Seems like it has been at random," said Luna thoughtfully. "But I suppose it hasn't, if it only grows hot when there's danger. I've been in danger several times without even knowing it, then." She sounded surprisingly calm for someone who had just made that sort of discovery.

_"Where was it?!"_  Harry pressed. "When did you notice it first?"

"When I was passing my Moaning Myrtle's bathroom," Luna answered immediately. "I was out looking for Veronica so I could return the thing to her, so I was holding it in my hand, and all of a sudden, it was so hot that I dropped it on the floor. That was the first time. It was quite a shock, you know."

"What's Moaning Myrtle's bathroom?" said Harry, frowning behind his glasses.

"It's the bathroom where Moaning Myrtle lives, of course," said Luna.

Harry looked at Neville, who looked just as blank. "Is this like the Nargles, or —?"

"No, Harry," said Hermione. "Moaning Myrtle's real enough."

"All too real," Ronnie agreed, having managed to repress the thoughts about the Imperius  _(don't think about the Imperius!)_  and instead seeing the bespectacled, transparent face for her inner eye. "She's one of the ghosts. Er, I think she's the youngest of the ghosts, actually."

"Oh," said Harry. "I don't think I've met her."

"You wouldn't have," said Hermione. "She hardly ever leaves the girls' bathroom on the first floor. She haunts one of the toilets there."

"She haunts a _toilet?!"_  Neville looked like he couldn't decide on whether this was funny, tragic or vaguely disgusting.

"And wails and throws temper tantrums and causes floods whenever she thinks someone is making fun of her," said Ronnie. "And she  _always_ thinks someone's making fun of her. I once said 'it's cold today' and she threw an absolute fit!  _Ooooh, how could you be so cruel! You know I can't feel the cold because I'm DEAD!_ " She was pretty proud of her imitation of the ghost's whiny voice.

"But she's not dangerous," said Hermione. "She's horrible, yes, but she wouldn't hurt anyone. She  _can't_ hurt anyone, not beyond showering them with — ugh — toilet water. So whatever the Warning Fang reacted to, it must have been something else."

"Who'd willingly go into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom unless they absolutely had to?" said Ronnie.

Hermione shook her head. "Where else did the Fang grow hot?" she said, her annoyance with Luna temporarily forgotten.

The younger girl shrugged. "Mostly in the corridors," she said. "In various places. Never the same place twice. Oh!" She blinked. "Oh yes! Most of the times it happened I heard a noise too! Sort of a hissing noise, like — _Fffffssshhhhhhhhhtt!"_  She tried hissing like a cat, which caused Crookshanks to look at her in a startled way.

"The pipes in the wall are always hissing," said Neville a little nervously. "It's an old castle, and the plumbing —"

"No, no, no!" Luna shook her head vigorously. "It wasn't a plumbing-hiss, it was a hiss-hiss. _Fffffccchhhssshhhtt!"_

"Er," said Harry. "Why would the pipes say  _'honourless scum'?_ That doesn't sound like any pipes I ever — what?" he added, when he noticed everyone staring at him.

"...Nobody said anything about honourless scum," said Neville.

"Luna did!" Harry pointed at the girl. "Come on, you must have  _heard_ it, she said it a little strangely, but it was clearly those two words!  _Honourless scum!"_

"I didn't say that," said Luna, looking as puzzled as everyone else. "I just said  _fffschchhsssshht!"_

"No, you didn't! Now you just hissed!"

"That was what she did before too!" Hermione looked at Harry with concern. "Harry, are you feeling all right?"

Harry rubbed his forehead. "Are you lot going crazy," he said, "or am I? I know what I heard!"

_"We_  know what we  _didn't_ hear," said Ronnie. "And we definitely did not hear the words  _'honourless scum,'"_

"Maybe I did say it," Luna mused, "and then forgot I said it. Maybe all of us except Harry were attacked by Wrackspurts and got confused."

"What are Wrackspurts?" said Neville.

"Oh, they're these invisible creatures that float around and enter people's ears to make their brains go all fuzzy —"

"Never mind!"

"Maybe you should go see Madam Pomfrey," Hermione suggested.

"No!" Harry pulled away. "I'm fine! Let's just get back to the common room!"

They said goodbye to Luna and followed Harry back to Gryffindor Tower, still wondering just what had happened here. For some reason, Ronnie had a suspicion that Harry hearing words where the others only heard hissing was important somehow — but for the life of her, she couldn't figure out how.

Not then.

 

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all know more than Potter's Gang here, so: Yes, Luna just spoke Parseltongue. No, Luna isn't a Parselmouth; it was pure chance and a complete accident. We know from canon that Parseltongue can be imitated by people who aren't Parselmouths (Ron does it, after all), and so Luna in trying to imitate the hissing she heard accidentally managed to pronounce two words in Parseltongue. Which Harry, being a Parselmouth, heard as normal words.
> 
> As for Lockhart's theories about what killed the rooster... Well, anyone who's read "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them" should know why his suggestions are so off-the-wall... a Knarl is a magical hedgehog that eats daisies, and a Diricawl is a dodo bird. Neither of them could possibly have killed a rooster. Lockhart really isn't very good with magical creatures; or at least he has a habit of exaggerating how dangerous they are in order to make himself look braver and more heroic.
> 
> Otherwise, there are lots of clues in this chapter that you'll get immediately if you know canon, but the characters are missing most of them. And the first Petrification has taken place — but no "enemies of the Heir, beware" message? What has changed here, that Tom Riddle has decided against leaving that message?


	10. A Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annnd this is as far as I've written for now (at the time of writing I'm perhaps one-quarter into chapter eleven), so the updates are going to become more sporadic from now on. But no worries; the story is far from over and I'll post upcoming chapters as soon as I can!

"Miss Weasley, will you please stop playing with your mouse and practice the spell?" McGonagall sighed as Ronnie reluctantly placed the mouse back down on her desk. "You're the only one in the class who hasn't even made the _attempt."_

It was the first Transfiguration class since Lavender's Petrification, and they were supposed to be learning how to turn animals into water-goblets.

On the desks of all the other students stood various hybrids of animals and water-goblets. Hermione, of course, had the prettiest goblet; her iguana had transformed perfectly and was now stanting on proud display on her desk, all shiny and silver with elegant carvings on the rim. Harry too had managed to make a passable goblet out of his frog, even if said goblet was still a rather unpleasant green colour. Neville's goblet, however, was still covered in canary-yellow feathers and kept bursting into song, and Parvati's tortoise had just turned a silver colour and looked rather indignant about it -- her heart clearly hadn't been in it.

But Ronnie's mouse was the only animal in the room that had no goblet-like qualities whatsoever; it had spent most of the lesson happily sitting on her shoulder; even if she probably smelled of Crookshanks the mouse hadn't let that stop it in falling in love with her like most other animals, and Ronnie's stomach twisted as she had to pick it up and put it back down. 

"Go on, Miss Weasley," said McGonagall. "It's a simple wand movement. Three light taps, and the incantation is _'Fera verto.'_  When you are ready."

"But it's so cute," Ronnie murmured, looking at the mouse. "Look at that twitchy little nose."

"Miss Weasley," said McGonagall. "You are not here to pick out a new pet. How are you planning on passing Transfiguration if you can't even turn a simple mouse into a water-goblet?"

Ronnie shook her head. "I'm sorry, Professor," she said. "I just don't _like_ turning helpless animals into objects. It feels too much like killing them."

"Your concern for the animals does you credit," said McGonagall, "but I assure you, they are not dead. The spell can always be reversed. Mister Longbottom, may I?"

"What? Oh, er, yes, Professor," said Neville, pushing his feathery goblet across his desk. 

McGonagall lightly tapped the goblet twice with her wand. Almost immediately, it switched and changed into a small yellow canary bird, which shook its feathers and looked around the room.

"See? The animal is quite unharmed," said McGonagall, as the canary flapped its wings and then immediately flew over to Ronnie to perch on her head.

There were a few giggles around the classroom at that.

"So basically," said Parvati, "it's like _Petrifying_ them."

The giggles stopped immediately. The room went deathly still. 

"Miss Patil," said McGonagall in a rather taken-aback tone. _"That_ was uncalled for."

Parvati looked down at her silvery tortoise, casting a quick glance at the empty chair next to her. Her eyes were filled with tears.

Nobody said anything. Finally, McGonagall shook her head and lightly tapped Parvati's tortoise with her wand, making it change back to its original green colour. "Perhaps this is not the time to learn this particular spell," she said softly. "Miss Patil, Miss Weasley — you may be excused. Go get some fresh air."

Next Transfiguration class, they studied Untransfiguration instead. It was several weeks before another Transfiguration class involved animals — and even then, it was the _Avifors_ spell, which turned any object into a bird.

 

* * *

 

 

Days turned into weeks, and nothing more happened on the diary or Wormtail front.

Students were arguing about whether Lavender's Petrification had something to do with You-Know-Who's diary or not. Some of them were certain that it must have; Petrification was an act of extremely Dark magic, and who was the biggest practitioner of extremely Dark magic for the last few decades? Others (like, to take a completely random example, Cormac McLaggen) thought it was unlikely, claiming that everybody knew You-Know-Who was gone, and how much trouble could a diary be, anyway?

Fred and George claimed they were constantly checking the Marauder's Map for signs of Vernon Dursley or someone that could be Wormtail, but either they just had lousy timing or the targets in question had really left Hogwarts grounds.

"But then," said George, "he was one of its creators. Maybe he knows how to hide from the Map."

"But I can't imagine Wormtail being the sort to go around kidnapping and Petrifying people," said Fred. "There's something we're missing here."

Ronnie was also fairly certain that they were missing something — there was some detail here that she wasn't quite seeing, something that would have made sense of it all — but unlike the obviously biased Fred she didn't think it had anything to do with Wormtail's character. But she couldn't think of what it was.

And so far, that was the last word on the subject. If the teachers knew more, they weren't saying (and Lockhart had been noticeably colder towards Ronnie since her accusations of him, not that she minded), and so there was nothing to do except continue their lives as normally as possible.

Well — almost normally. The dormitory was still strangely empty without Lavender in it, and Hermione had taken to spending almost all her spare time in the library. Now, of course, Hermione had always been the sort to spend a lot of time reading, but after Lavender's Petrification she had really taken it to extremes, looking for likely causes of Petrification.

So with schoolwork, Quidditch practice (for Harry), endless research (for Hermione) and lots of speculation that led nowhere (for the rest of them), time passed — and soon, Halloween was upon Hogwarts again.

Halloween was always a grand occasion at Hogwarts; Ronnie had been told often enough about the splendid Halloween feast and the marvellous decorations by her brothers, and had already experienced the start of one Halloween feast herself. Of course, that particular Halloween feast had been interrupted by a troll, let into Hogwarts by Professor Quirrell, so it had been cut short.

At breakfast one rainy Saturday morning shortly before Halloween, Fred and George stopped by up by the High Table on their way to join the other Gryffindors, to ask Lockhart whether he was planning on letting a troll into the school the way Quirrell had.

"Because if you are," said Fred, in front of the entire school, "would you mind giving George and me a little hint about it when you do? We'd like to get a proper view this year."

"Yeah, last year, we didn't even  _see_ the troll," said George.

Any other teacher would have deducted a considerable number of points from Gryffindor for this, or at least told the twins to stop fooling around, but Lockhart merely smiled his award-winning smile. "If a troll should come here this Halloween," he said, "then you'll have nothing to fear as long as  _I'm_ here. I know exactly how to deal with such creatures."

"Come on, you two," Oliver Wood called impatiently from the Gryffindor table. "I've booked the Quidditch pitch and we're practising no matter how much it's raining, so make sure you eat a healthy breakfast!"

Wood had been deathly (and loudly) afraid that Lavender's Petrification would mean that Dumbledore once again declared Hogwarts to be unsafe and cancelled all Quidditch practice the way he had last year — but so far, this hadn't happened, and Wood was determined that, now that he had a "good seeker" (McLaggen grumbled a little at that), Gryffindor would win the Quidditch cup. So he'd called for a lot of practices, no matter the weather.

Not that Ronnie would admit it, but it actually was kind of nice to not be on the team when that meant you didn't have to fly while it was raining Krups and Kneazles.

"I wish your brothers would stop bothering Professor Lockhart so much," Hermione muttered from beside Ronnie, as the sniggering Fred and George came up to the Gryffindor table to sit. "He's got the patience of a saint, really, dealing with such questions."

"More like the brains of a beetle," said Ronnie, pouring herself a glass of orange juice. "He's too dense to realise when he's being made fun of. And I still say he's hiding something."

"Make up your mind!" Hermione snapped. "Either he's an idiot, or he's cunning enough to hide things from Professor Dumbledore and the entire staff. He  _can't_ be  _both!"_

"So you're admitting that he's  _one_ of 'em, then?"

"That's not what I said!" Hermione frowned. "The problem with you, Veronica Weasley, is that you can never let go of your biases!"

Ronnie shook her head. Hermione was usually so smart and a good judge of character, but just because some vain ponce smiled at her with unnaturally white teeth she was completely unable to see what an absolute  _tit_ the man was.

On a related note, there was Ginny. She at least managed to  _talk_ in Harry's presence now instead of squeaking, but whenever he was around she had this nasty tendency to turn shy — and Ginny had never been shy in her life.

Did fancying someone have to mean you turned into someone completely different?

Her musings were interrupted by the arrival of the breakfast post owls.

As usual, a number of students received letters from home, though Ronnie wasn't expecting any today — poor old Errol had, the last time he carried a letter from Mum, managed to get lost three times and eventually had to be rescued from the Forbidden forest by Hagrid. For an encore he had crash-landed on the Gryffindor table, upsetting a pot of strawberry jam which had taken  _ages_ to clean off his feathers. The Weasleys had silently agreed to not send him out on any long journeys for a while after that, and Harry had offered them to borrow Hedwig if they needed a letter sent (Percy was still reluctant to let anyone borrow Hermes, though he had let up slightly after returning to Hogwarts).

But just as the other owls had dropped their letters and parcels and taken off again, an unknown owl came swooping down down to the Gryffindor table, immediately perched on Ronnie's head and dropped a letter right in front of Harry, only just missing his cereal bowl.

Harry carefully picked it up while Ronnie tried convincing the owl to get off her, and Neville, who was sitting opposite, said with some excitement: "I recognise that handwriting! You just got a letter from Mr. Lupin!"

"Oh!" Harry's eyes widened behind his glasses. He'd written a long letter to the selfsame Mr. Lupin quite some time ago, but Hedwig had returned without a response. "I was starting to wonder if he didn't want to talk to me at all!"

"Open it!" said Ronnie eagerly. This was the first really exciting thing to happen in weeks — well, not that she was particularly eager for more Petrifications or anything like that, but still.

"Maybe Harry wants to read it alone," said Hermione, even if she too looked rather curious about the letter.

But Harry had already torn the envelope open, and for once he seemed oblivious to the fact that several people were looking at him. "Thank you," he said to the owl on Ronnie's head, which hooted and took to its wings again, flying up and away.

For what seemed like an eternity, Harry read in silence. Ronnie felt curiosity well up inside her, and she could see that Hermione, sitting next to her, was also a lot more curious than she wanted to admit. Ginny and Colin, sitting nearby, were also looking interested, and Colin wasn't even trying to hide that he was stretching his neck to try and catch a glimpse of the text.

Harry only looked up from the letter once, and then only to ask "What's a Howler, again?"

"Er," said Ronnie. "It's a letter that yells at you in a really loud voice. Why?"

Harry just nodded at the letter and kept reading. Finally, he looked up and put it down, a small smile on his lips.

"What does he say?" said Ronnie, unable to contain herself.

Harry handed the letter to her. "Read for yourself," he said.

Ronnie and Hermione put their heads together and read:

 

_Dear Harry,_

_I apologise for not having replied to your letter sooner, but I have been ill and it's only now I feel up to the task of writing. I was, however, very glad to receive your letter — to think it's been eleven years, and you're already at your second year at Hogwarts. Sometimes it feels like only yesterday that I was a student there myself._

_I have often thought of you these past years, and as you correctly surmised in your letter I did read about your Muggle relatives and your current staying with the Weasley family in the Daily Prophet. I have, however, learned to take everything the Prophet says with a grain of salt, and when you say that the Weasleys are good people, and your friend Neville likewise had nothing but good things to say about them, of course I will believe that over any newspaper article. I'm very happy that you have such good friends; I know that I would probably never have survived my time at Hogwarts without my friends by my side._

_Yes, your father, James, was indeed one of my best friends. He was a bit of a mischief-maker and had an uncanny talent for trouble, but he was as loyal and true a friend as I could ever wish for. I won't hesitate to say that over the years he became like a brother to me. Ever since we were sorted into Gryffindor together, we were practically inseparable — James, myself and our two other friends Peter and Sirius._

_We had more misadventures and got up to more mischief over the years than I can even remember. I hope you will forgive me, though, if I don't recount these in detail. I would hate to receive a Howler from Professor McGonagall about encouraging you to mischief._

_Your mother, Lily, was in our year, and was one of the kindest, most charming witches I've ever known. James was smitten with her from early on, though it took years before she would give him the time of day. I'm afraid she didn't much approve of his madcap pranks._

_By the time we were in seventh year, though, James had mellowed out a lot, and Lily had warmed up to him considerably. They were chosen as Head Boy and Girl, and left Hogwarts not only with top honours but as a couple._

_I count myself as lucky and privileged to have known two such wonderful people, and am truly saddened that you never got to know them._

_I think I still have some photographs of our Hogwarts days. If you would like some, you have only to ask._

_Sincerely yours,  
_ _Remus J. Lupin_

 

"Wow," said Ronnie as she put down the letter (which was immediately snatched by Ginny). "Neville was right, he seems nice. Doesn't hurt that he doesn't listen to everything the  _Daily Prophet_  says either."

"Are you going to ask him for the photographs?" Neville asked after managing to glance at the letter as well.

"I think I might," said Harry. "I don't really have all that many. Hagrid gave me a couple of photos last year, but they were when Mum and Dad were married and had me." (Ronnie had seen one of these photographs; it was of a proud-looking James holding a Harry who couldn't be more than a few months old, displaying him for the camera any which way. Funnily enough, James had looked more like the Harry she knew than baby Harry had; it was hard to recognise her best friend in that wide-eyed baby with the toothless grin, who kept pulling his father's hair.)

"He didn't say much about Peter or Sirius, did he?" said Ronnie. She remembered Neville's story from the Hogwarts express, of the one friend who had died and the other who had turned traitor.

"I didn't really ask," said Harry, sounding a little embarrassed. "Neville said he didn't seem to want to talk about them, so..."

"He didn't," said Neville. "He talked a little bit about Peter, but not about Sirius."

"That's understandable," said Hermione. "If  _you_ had three good friends, and two of them died while the third turned out a traitor and a murderer, wouldn't you find it harder to talk about that third friend too?"

"I really hope none of us ever have to find out," said Harry dryly.

"Oh!" Hermione looked sheepish. "Harry, I didn't mean — You  _know_ none of us would ever —"

Ronnie decided to help Hermione out a bit by changing the subject. "What  _did_ Mr. Lupin say about Peter?" she said, looking back at Neville.

"Er." Neville fidgeted. "You know my memory's not the best. I don't really remember any details."

"Broad strokes then!"

"Well. Er."

"What Longbottom doesn't want to say," came a very unwelcome voice from behind, "is that  _'Peter'_ was a fat, pathetic excuse for a wizard, who thought he could become less pathetic by hanging around people that were successful and popular, if only by comparison. He was exactly like Longbottom, in fact."

Neville turned dark red and looked down at his plate.

Ronnie was at her feet at once, twirling around to look directly into the icy-grey, mocking eyes of the offender.  _"Malfoy -!"_  she growled.

"Yes, yes, I know.  _'Sod off, Malfoy.'_ You're so  _predictable_ , Weasley." Draco Malfoy was flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, who stood on each side of him and looked menacing — which was probably why Malfoy looked so self-assured at the moment.

Harry had raised himself as well. "Lay off," he said. "Neville's not pathetic, and neither were any of my father's friends!"

"Just ignore him, you two," said Hermione steadfastly. "He doesn't know anything!"

"Oh,  _don't_ I?" Malfoy looked like he was enjoying this. "Granger, the  _things_ I could tell you about Potter's father and his so-called friends — but of course, you wouldn't be interested," he added, taking a quick look at the various other Gryffindors who were raising themselves. "Gryffindor's turn to have the Quidditch pitch for practice, isn't it? Nice weather for it. I'm thinking of watching you from a window, in a nice dry room and with a hot drink in my hand."

Crabbe and Goyle chortled dutifully, as Wood also raised himself. "If you think you can spy on the Gryffindor team —" he began.

"At least the Gryffindor team are  _capable_ of flying even if the weather gets a little rough," said Ronnie, "instead of running inside the moment a cloud shows up!"

Malfoy glowered at her, ignoring Wood. "At least the Slytherin team has decent broomsticks! The Gryffindors can barely hover along on theirs!" (The Slytherin team had recently been given, as a generous donation from Malfoy's father, new broomsticks of the brand-new Nimbus 2001 type — which was probably why Malfoy was now the team's new Seeker.)

"At least the Gryffindor team has a Seeker that didn't get in just because his rich Daddy bribed the team captain with new broomsticks!"

"At least I'm  _on_ a team! Which Quidditch team are  _you_ on, Weasley? Or no, wait, you're the mascot of the Gryffindor team, aren't you?  _Weasley the Ugliest Ghoul!"_

"Why you —!" Ronnie suddenly felt Hermione grab her to hold her back.

 _"Don't!"_ the bushy-haired girl hissed. "He's not worth it!"

 _"Is there a problem down there?!"_ said Professor McGonagall, her voice carrying as well as ever across the from the High Table.

There was a short silence.

"No problem, Professor," said Malfoy, who had managed to make his voice sound all smooth and calm again. "Crabbe, Goyle and I were just wishing the Gryffindors a happy upcoming Halloween."

"And I suppose they all stood up because they thought your words were worth a standing ovation?" said McGonagall, clearly not believing him for a moment. (The entire Gryffindor Quidditch team — Wood, Fred, George, Angelina, Katie and Alicia — was standing along with Harry, Ronnie, Hermione and Ginny.) "Sit down, you lot! And Mister Malfoy,  _do_ stop bothering them."

"All right." Malfoy gave Harry a nasty smile. "Well, I suppose I should wish you luck as Gryffindor's new Seeker, Potter... You'll need it. First match is going to be against Slytherin, and I'm going to enjoy —"

 _"Now,_ Mister Malfoy, or I'll take five points from Slytherin."

"Gryffindor bias," Malfoy snorted, but very softly so that McGonagall wouldn't hear it. "We'll see how it goes on the Quidditch pitch." Then he turned and, together with Crabbe and Goyle, walked back to the Slytherin table.

Harry and Ronnie sat down, as did the other students who had stood up. Harry was looking at Malfoy with a weird mix of anger, exasperation and curiosity.

"Don't pay him any mind," said Ginny, handing Mr. Lupin's letter back to Harry. "Hermione's right, he doesn't know anything."

"Yeah, he's just jealous!" Colin added.  _"He's_  not on the Gryffindor team!"

But Harry didn't look too convinced of that, and when Neville finally had the voice to speak again, he said: "Thing is — Mr. Lupin  _did_ say that Peter was...well, he didn't use the word  _'pathetic,'_  but he was a bit of a tag-along, not as talented as she others... Dunno if he was fat or not, but — how could Malfoy have known?"

"C'mon, Neville, you know better than to listen to anything  _Malfoy_ says," said Ronnie.

"So should you, Veronica," said Hermione admonishingly. "He's just trying to get you to lose your temper so he can get you into trouble, don't you see that? Now that Snape's gone, Slytherin's lost the teacher most biased in their favour. Malfoy's clearly trying to make up for it."

Ronnie didn't have an answer to that. She knew Hermione was right; she'd let Malfoy provoke her. But it was just so easy to forget logical arguments like that when he was standing there and mocking both her and her friends.

And it was a little weird... How  _had_ Malfoy known about this Peter fellow?

Maybe his Dad had been at Hogwarts at roughly the same time as Harry's Dad, and spent family dinners talking about how pathetic the Gryffindors he'd went to school with was? Ronnie could all too well imagine Malfoy and his father swapping nasty tales about people they didn't like. Yeah, that'd be it. Probably Mr. Malfoy would take extra care to tell his son foul things about Harry's Dad and his friends, to give him some more ammunition against Harry.

"How is Quidditch practice coming along anyway," she asked Harry, deciding to focus on more positive things.

"Oh, it's brilliant," said Harry. "Wood reckons the team's really going to do great. Just you wait, Ronnie, I'll beat Malfoy so hard that he won't know what hit him."

"Good," said Ronnie.

 

* * *

 

Practising in weather like this couldn't be very fun, though, no matter how much you were looking forward to beating Malfoy. Ronnie had debated going out to watch, but the sour weather and pouring rain made the nice, dry common room feel all too inviting and comfortable. She'd pondered finding a window to watch the game from, but the Quidditch pitch wasn't easily visible from Gryffindor tower and anyway, what would she have seen? Some miserable-looking dots flying around, all obscured because of the heavy rain?

It was Colin who got the idea to go down to the front entrance with some towels or something for the team so they could at least dry off after their lengthy exposure to the October rain.

And so, since Hermione had decided to spend the day in the library again, it was Ronnie, Neville, Ginny and Colin who greeted the team as they staggered in, tired and soaked to the bone, their Quidditch robes looking to be ten times heavier than usual with all the rainwater they had absorbed. Neville had managed to scrounge up quite a few towels and blankets, which were accepted with praise and thanks from all the team-mates — including McLaggen, who was too exhausted to keep up his usual standoffish nature.

"We really have to learn that Hot-Air Charm," Katie said through clattering teeth as she rubbed herself down with a towel that got wetter and wetter.

"I'd be happy with a charm that made these glasses repel water," said Harry, wiping them off on his towel. "If we play in weather like this, I'll never be able to see the Snitch."

"There is a charm like that," said Ronnie eagerly.  _"Impervius!_ Dad's used it on the car windows! Dunno when we learn it..."

"Hermione probably knows," said Neville.

"You've  _got_ to talk to Flitwick about that one, Harry!" said Wood, who despite being just as wet, tired and shivering as the rest, seemed to have a lot more energy to spare. "Anything for an edge against Slytherin!"

"Yeah, I hate to admit it, but those new brooms they've got are the tops," said George, his red hair sticking out all around him after a frantic rubbing with a towel. "Fred and me managed to sneak a peek at the Slytherin team practising. Fastest broomsticks I've seen, makes us look like flying snails in comparison."

"It's not the broomsticks that count, it's the witches and wizards riding them," said Angelina, who had wrapped a blanket around herself and was looking a lot more content. "Helps to have good housemates too. I couldn't imagine any Slytherins doing this for their team!"

They were in a better mood as they moved up to Gryffindor tower, getting no more than a sour look from Filch as they passed him (if they'd gone in dripping wet he'd have thrown a fit). In one of the corridors, they passed by a silvery-white, transparent figure, who was staring forlornly out of a window.

If this had been a Muggle school, Ronnie thought, no doubt panic would have erupted because Muggles weren't used to ghosts — but here at Hogwarts, even Harry, who had grown up with Muggles, barely gave them a second thought.

"Hello, Nick," said Harry politely, and various choruses of "Hey, Nick," sounded from everyone else as they walked past.

Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, affectionately known as Nearly Headless Nick, Resident Ghost of Gryffindor Tower, turned around and smiled at them, though the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Hello, hello," he said. "Ah, Ronnie," he added as he saw that she was with them. "Terribly sorry — no sign of that diary yet. We'll find it, though, never you worry."

"Er, thank you, Nick," said Ronnie. "I know you're, er, doing your best and all."

"Oh — while I have you here," the ghost continued, floating around so that he was in front of her.

If he'd been corporeal he would have been blocking her path, but since he was a ghost she could walk straight through him if she wanted. She hated doing that, though; walking through a ghost felt like having a bucket of ice water thrown at you, and it felt a little awkwardly wrong too somehow. So she stopped, and Harry stopped beside her — which of course meant that Ginny and Colin stopped too, even as the rest of the group went on.

"I've told Dumbledore this too," said Nick, "but I thought since you're so closely tied to this case... and obviously, if we do find the diary, we'll let you all know, soon as possible, but, well, we're taking Halloween off from the search."

"Oh." Ronnie wasn't quite sure how to take this. "Er, that's all right, Halloween's a pretty big day —"

"Absolutely!" Nick agreed. "In fact —" (he straightened himself and took on a pompously proud expression that looked more funny than impressive) "— this particular Halloween just happens to be my five hundredth deathday!"

"Oh," Ronnie repeated, trying to remember whether she was supposed to offer congratulations or condolences. Marking the day you died sounded awfully depressing to  _her_ , but a ghost might look at it differently. "Five hundred." She exchanged glances with Harry and Neville, but Harry looked blank and Neville just had that vague look of unease he usually had when a ghost was talking to him. "Er, wow."

"Many happy returns!" said Colin, and then added. "I think?"

"Of course, deathdays come and deathdays go," said Nick, "but number five hundred, that's a bit of a special occasion, isn't it? So I'm holding a party down in the dungeons. Friends coming from all over the country, even, well —" He looked a little flustered. "So what I would like to ask — it's silly, really, but I thought, since we ghosts have been taking a lot of time out to — and of course there's no harm in  _asking_ , feel free to say no if you don't —"

"What  _is_ it, Nick?" said Harry. "Just ask!"

"Well," said Nick, looking a little relieved. "The thing is, one of my guests will be Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore — one of the high representatives for the Headless Hunt, you know." ("What's the Headless Hunt?" Colin whispered to Ginny, who shushed him.) "I sort of thought I would — you know, since I did die from beheading, you'd think I'd qualify, wouldn't you? I mean, getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe, that sounds pretty beheaded to me. Right?"

"Yes!" said Ginny, subtly elbowing Ronnie and giving meaningful looks to the boys..

"What? Oh, yes!" said Ronnie.

"Absolutely," Harry agreed.

"Right!" Nick's face was a study in righteous indignation. "But apparently, _Sir Patrick_  is of another opinion. Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on, that's enough for him to say I'm not qualified to join the Headless Hunt!"

He looked upset enough that Ronnie wondered if he'd do his old trick of grabbing his head and flipping it over like it was on a hinge — but he didn't. Instead he just turned to Harry and said, in a calmer voice: "So I was wondering — just tell me if you don't want to — but could you perhaps drop by my party and talk to him?"

"Me?" said Harry, blinking in surprise.

"Why, yes! You're famous among ghosts too, you know," said Nick, looking at the rest of Potter's Gang. "Oh, you're all welcome too, of course, and so is Miss Granger, if she would like to! I just thought, if Sir Patrick found that  _Harry Potter_ was speaking for me — but you'd probably rather go to the school feast?"

"No, no, I'll come!" said Harry hurriedly.

Nick beamed at him. "My dear boy! You have no idea how much this means to me! Oh, and if you get the chance, could you possibly mention to Sir Patrick how impressive and frightening you find me?"

"Er, yes, of course," said Harry, who looked like he was starting to wonder just what he'd agreed to and whether it really was a good idea.

Ronnie thought about the Halloween feast, and how it had been interrupted last year. Then she looked at Harry and how overwhelmed he seemed. She repressed a sigh and put on as cheerful a face as she could. "I'll come too!" she said.

"Me too!" said Ginny and Colin simultaneously.

"Yeah," said Neville, sounding slightly less enthusiastic but clearly wanting to show solidarity. "Er, don't worry, Sir Nicholas, we'll tell this Sir Patrick all about how scary you are!"

"Do ghosts show up on cam —" Colin began, but then his face fell as, no doubt, he remembered that his camera was out of commission and he wouldn't be able to take pictures to show his family back home anyway. "Never mind."

As Nearly Headless Nick floated off, looking happier than any of them could ever remember seeing him, Harry turned to Ronnie with a  _'what-did-I-just-get-myself-into'_ look on his face. "Er," he said. "You guys really don't have to come along, you know —"

"Of course we don't have to," said Ronnie. "But we will. Right?"

Neville, Ginny and Colin all nodded.

"And Hermione will be thrilled," Ronnie continued. "I can just hear her now: _'A deathday party, how fascinating, I bet there aren't many living people who can say they've been to a deathday party...'"_

"All right, all right," Harry laughed. "Point taken."

 

* * *

 

And so it was that, on the evening that Halloween, while all the other students were going down to the Great Hall for the spectacular feast, Potter's Gang, Ginny and Colin were all preparing for a trip down to the dungeons.

Hermione, prepared as always, had advised them all to wear thick underclothes under their robes because she'd read that whenever a large number of ghosts were gathered the temperature would drop several degrees around them.

Ronnie didn't really think it'd be much of a problem, but Ginny, when she showed up at The second-year girls' dormitory to see if Ronnie and Hermione were ready, turned out to have dug out her old jumper and the thick woollen stockings Mum had knitted for her, and was wearing them under their robes.

"I thought, better safe than sorry," she said. "It's getting warm, though."

"Never mind," said Hermione encouragingly. "You'll be grateful for the warmth when you're down in the dungeon surrounded by ghosts." She had also decided to wear a thick woollen jumper under her robes, together with a pair of woollen trousers, and now she was giving a meaningful look to Ronnie, who was only wearing her normal vest and knickers under her robes. "She'll be  _very_ grateful," she added.

"Yes, _Mum,"_ said Ronnie, rolling her eyes. "Are we going, or what? We're late enough as it is without waiting for me to dress for winter! Oy, Parvati," she added, turning to Parvati's bed, "move your arse, you'll miss the feast."

Parvati looked up from her bed, where she had been lying and looking glum all afternoon. "I'm not going to the feast," she said. "I don't feel like it."

"Well, do you want to come with us to the deathday party then?" said Hermione.

Parvati rolled over on her side. "No."

"I'm sure Padma's gonna miss you if you don't go to the feast," Ronnie goaded. She had always been a little surprised at how little time Parvati seemed to spend with her twin sister, even if said twin sister was in Ravenclaw. Fred and George had always been completely inseparable.

But Parvati just shrugged.

Hermione sat down on the bed next to the gloomy-looking girl. "You really should go," she said. "I'm sure Lavender wouldn't want you to miss out —"

"Lavender's not here, is she?" Parvati snapped, suddenly angry. "How do you know what she'd want?! Crookshanks, get off!" This last part was of course to Crookshanks, who had jumped up on the bed and started rubbing his head against Parvati's hand, much like Mrs. Norris had done to Ronnie when she and Harry had discovered Lavender.

"He just wants you to feel better," said Ronnie — and as Parvati sighed and started to scratch behind Crookshanks's ears, looking a little calmer, Ronnie was suddenly very proud of her cat. Smart bugger.

"Look, you don't have to go anywhere you don't wanna go," she said. "Crookshanks'll be happy to keep you company here if you like."

"Maybe you can go up to the hospital wing to visit Lavender," Ginny piped up.

"There's no real point, is there?" said Hermione dubiously. "I read up on Petrification — Petrified people don't know if anyone's there or not. Lavender won't even notice."

"Parvati can tell her afterwards, when she's revived, can't she?" said Ginny stubbornly. "Don't you think Lavender would like knowing that someone visited her while she was Petrified?"

Parvati slowly sat up. "You know," she said, "maybe I will."

They left her in the dormitory, still on her bed and petting Crookshanks, looking pensive.

"I'm not sure visiting Lavender will be good for her," Hermione murmured.

"Better than just lying around and moping," said Ginny.

Harry, Neville and Colin were waiting for them down in the otherwise empty common room. None of them had dressed up either, though Harry had at least made an effort at getting his unruly hair to lie flat. (He hadn't succeeded very well, but you could at least see that he'd tried.)

"Well," said Harry, not saying anything about them being late. "Better get going. Er, unless you'd rather go to the feast. I can go alone, you know," he added, for about the seventh time since Nick's invitation.

"Rubbish!" said Hermione, for about the seventh time since Nick's invitation. "We all promised! And besides, I'm looking forward to attending a real deathday party! I bet not many living people can say they've been to one!"

"Do I know her well, or do I know her well?" said Ronnie to Harry, unable to keep a certain smugness out of her voice.

He snorted with amusement. Hermione just huffed. And then they were off.

Halloween looked to be spectacular this year — the Great Hall was decorated just as brilliantly as it had been last year, and Hagrid had provided some enormous pumpkins that he'd carved into lanterns big enough to room three men, and rumours were going around the school that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for the entertainment.

They could hear the chattering of excited voices as they passed by the entrance to the Great Hall and instead took off down towards the far less inviting, much more gloomy dungeons.

Only Hermione and Colin looked excited about the upcoming deathday party, Ronnie noticed; Colin of course didn't know what he'd be missing and Hermione would never pass up an opportunity to learn something new (even if it was just how ghosts celebrated the day they died). And in a way it  _was_ kind of fascinating, and if the deathday party hadn't been at the same day as the Halloween feast... But the alternative was to let Harry go alone, and Ronnie knew neither she nor any of the others would want that.

The passageway leading to Nearly Headless Nick's party had been lined with candles; thin black tapers that burned an eerie blue and created a very gloomy effect. Probably Nick had asked one of the teachers to do it, maybe Flitwick, to create the proper atmosphere.

The further they went down the corridor, the colder it got. After a few metres, Ronnie was starting to wish she'd taken Hermione's advice anyway and worn her jumper and stockings, but she'd be buggered if she showed it and got a round of 'I-told-you-so' from the bushy-haired girl. It was bad enough that some strange sounds that were probably supposed to be music was heard from up ahead; though it sounded more like someone torturing a thousand mice. (Oh, God, she hoped that wasn't how ghosts actually made music!)

Just as they were about to turn a corner, a piercing howl came from up front, and a transparent, silvery-white form came floating through the wall; a young girl ghost with long hair and round spectacles. "I'm  _leaving!"_ she howled, ghostly tears streaking down her face. "I'm  _never_  coming to any of your _stupid parties_  again!"

"Now, Myrtle," came the voice of Nearly Headless Nick, whose head bobbed on its shoulders as it stuck out from that same wall. "I'm certain nobody meant —"

 _"YES, THEY DID!"_ Myrtle screamed.  _"I'LL GO_ _ **DROWN**_ _MYSELF, THEN YOU'LL ALL BE SORRY!"_

Ronnie and Hermione had just enough time to pull Harry, Colin, Ginny and Neville aside to save them from being run through by the howling ghost girl as she flew at a great speed up the corridor; so upset that she didn't even see them.

"I'm going to take a wild guess," said Harry as she vanished and Ronnie let go of him, "and say that was that Moaning Myrtle you girls told us about."

"How can she drown herself?" said Colin. "Isn't she already dead?"

"She'll remember that when she reaches that bathroom of hers, and then she'll just sulk and flood her toilet again," sighed Nick, looking vaguely absurd as his loosely-connected head was sticking out of the wall. "Peeves was teasing her about something, and someone else may have laughed, and she's so sensitive about — but I really don't have the time to go soothing her feelings right now, the Headless Hunt hasn't arrived yet, and it's nearly time for my speech — hello, by the way, such a pleasure to see you all here!" This last part was said somewhat more jovially.

"Is she going to be all right?" said Neville, motioning in the direction Moaning Myrtle had vanished.

"Of course she will," said Nick dismissively. "She's a ghost. Nothing can hurt a ghost. But I can't wait for you to meet Sir Patrick, Harry! Now, when he arrives with the rest of the Headless Hunt, you'll make certain you tell him how frightening I am?"

"Oh — of course!" said Harry.

"Splendid, splendid! Well, I need to go go mingle a bit before my speech — do come in, the entrance to the dungeon is just around the corner, it's the doorway with the black velvet drapes!" Nick's head vanished in through the wall again.

They all exchanged glances and then began moving towards the corner.

Just then, though, Ronnie felt an unexpected, painful warmth against her chest. _"Ow!"_  She yelped, stopped, and grasped for the Warning Fang she had underneath her clothes. It was all of a sudden growing extremely hot.

Something or someone extremely dangerous was near — but where? She looked around the corridor, but nobody was there apart from her and her friends, who had also stopped and were looking at her with concern.

"Are you —" Neville began.

 _"Shh!"_  Harry suddenly looked around. "That voice! It's that voice again!"

Ronnie fished the hot Warning Fang out from under her clothes and held it out in the air to keep it from burning her, trying to listen for a voice. She couldn't hear anything apart from Harry, the regular hissing of the plumbing, and the trying-to-be music from behind the wall, and the others looked just as blank.

But Harry was over by the wall, looking like he was straining himself to listen. "It's saying something about killing — oh, no —"

"Harry, there's no voice!" said Hermione.

"Shut up for a minute!" Harry hissed. "I'm trying to find out where it's coming from!"

"The Warning Fang —" Ronnie began, but was interrupted by a gasp from Ginny, who pointed to the floor.

Fifteen or twenty small black spiders were scurrying up the corridor. Neville squeaked and Hermione stepped back, and Colin just stared as the spiders rushed past them without so much as acknowledging their presence, and vanished. Ronnie had never seen spiders act like that before; it was like they were running away from something...

Whatever the Warning Fang was warning her about, whatever voice Harry was hearing, whatever the spiders were running from, it had to be connected.

She was about to say this, when the Warning Fang suddenly grew cool again and Harry backed away from the wall. "It vanished," he said. "The voice vanished, just like that. None of you heard it?"

They all shook their heads.

"Just like last time," said Harry breathlessly. "I thought it was Peeves having a laugh. Ronnie didn't hear the voice, but I did. It was just before we found Lavender..." he trailed off.

It took perhaps five seconds before Hermione spoke up, her voice sounding strangely small. "Is it just me, or did it suddenly get very quiet?"

And then Ronnie realised what she meant: The music, or what the ghosts probably thought was music, had stopped. An eerie quiet had sunk over the corridor.

Later on, none of them could say just who had started running first — Ronnie said it was Harry, Harry said it was Hermione and Ginny claimed they'd all started at the exact same time — but before they knew it they were racing down the corridor, rounding the corner and straight for the door with the black velvet drapes.

Running into the dungeon in question was not unlike running into a freezer; Ronnie felt the cold sting on her face and hands as the entered, but what she felt didn't concern her so much as what she  _saw_.

It was a beautiful, gloomy, eerie and deeply unsettling sight all at the same time. The dungeon had been decorated in black and midnight-blue; a chandelier hanging above with more black candles, a raised stage where a ghostly orchestra was playing on saws (so that had been the music!) while dozens, if not hundreds of ghosts were gathered on the dance floor beneath.

But none of the ghosts were moving. In fact, none of them were their usual silvery-white or grey; they all looked oddly black and smoky, and were floating motionlessly, horizontally or straight up and down, with looks of shock on their faces. The orchestra had frozen in the middle of playing, the dancers in the middle of dancing.

All the ghosts they knew from their time at Hogwarts — the Bloody Baron, the Fat Friar, the Grey Lady — plus dozens of ghosts they hadn't even seen before, were floating there motionlessly. Even Nearly Headless Nick was frozen and motionless like the others, staring blankly at whatever it was that had shocked him.

"They've... they've all been Petrified," said Neville, his soft voice sounding unusually loud in the eerie quiet. "Every last one of them."

"But we only  _just_ talked to Nick!" said Ronnie, feeling a sense of dread in her stomach. "What could have got to all of them that fast?"

"What could have done it at all?!" said Neville. "I didn't even know ghosts  _could_ get Petrified."

"Look!" Colin pointed. "Whatever it was, it got Peeves too!"

And true enough: There, by a large table where a large amount of putrid, rotten food was decoratively placed around a disgustingly grey cake shaped like a tombstone and bearing the words  _SIR NICHOLAS DE MIMSY-PORPINGTON, DIED 31ST OCTOBER, 1492,_  was Hogwarts's resident poltergeist. Unlike the ghosts, Peeves had not gone black and smoky; he was just as colourful as usual, wearing an orange party hat and a bow tie, but he too was floating stiffly and motionlessly... And upside-down, for some reason. His malicious face had stiffened in an open-mouthed grimace, as if he had tried to yell something, and his hands were making a weird gesture that Ronnie didn't recognise; he held his hands slightly apart as if applauding something, but his thumbs were touching.

"This is impossible!" said Hermione in the somewhat shrill tone she usually got when she was scared. "What could possibly Petrify hundreds of ghosts? And Peeves! I've read  _Hogwarts: A History,_  nobody's ever been able to do _anything_ against Peeves before! Caretakers and teachers have tried to get rid of him for centuries, none of them —" She stopped, heaving for her breath. "We're not staying here," she announced. "We're going to the Great Hall to tell the teachers what happened.  _NOW."_

Nobody wanted to argue. Though Ronnie did take a final glance at Peeves as they hurried out of the dungeon. That gesture he was making could be a letter, couldn't it? It looked kind of like a W... Or, since he was upside-down, maybe it was meant to be an M? Was it supposed to be some kind of clue? Was he trying to tell them who was responsible for this?

In that case, could it be that he meant  _Wormtail_ , or... Something clicked in her head.  _What if it was..._

**_...Malfoy?_ **

 

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the chapter title refers to both the letter Harry gets from Remus Lupin, and the letter Ronnie thinks Peeves is forming with his hands. Double meanings are fun!
> 
> The Basilisk's being very effective, isn't it? And why try to target a bunch of ghosts, in a place where no humans were likely to set foot, apart from Potter's Gang? It seems like maybe in this universe, the goal might not be the deaths of Muggle-borns... or is there another explanation?
> 
> By the way, Colin's role in this story came as a surprise to me. I hadn't actually planned for him to have any notable role in the story; I knew he'd make an appearance since he's pretty much the only other Gryffindor in Ginny's year we even know the name of, but I'd really only planned for him to have a few cameos, like one of the students who got a couple of spoken lines here and there, nothing more than that.
> 
> But Colin proved to be much too persistent to be satisfied with just a minor role. Just like his canon counterpart, he had an uncanny ability to show up uninvited and unexpected, and then just stick around. By the time I'd written chapter nine, which was when I started posting this story to Ao3, he was unquestioningly a major character and needed to be on the character list. We'll see just where the story takes him, won't we?


	11. That Muggle Girl, Shirley Holes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long wait again, I know, but Summer has been busy, and this chapter went through a lot of re-writes. If it's any consolation, this is the longest single chapter of the series yet; just shy of eleven thousand words (give or take a couple hundred words).

In the end, all the Petrified ghosts remained in the dungeon they had been found in, making the dungeons even colder than usual — not an ideal solution, but there weren't any other places in the castle that could house over a hundred motionless ghosts.

If Lavender's Petrification had caused debate and concern in the Hogwarts students, it was nothing compared to the arguments that broke out after what had happened to the ghosts.

Some students were more convinced that ever that You-Know-Who's diary had to be behind it all; after all, what else besides magic of the type You-Know-Who was famous for could anything like that to a ghost — and to a room full of ghosts at that? Others, however, were not so sure; after all, the Bloody Baron had been one of the victims and You-Know-Who was the quintessential Slytherin; why would he harm a Slytherin ghost?

Attempts had been made to ask other ghosts about it, but the results hadn't been very satisfactory. Moaning Myrtle, who was the only un-Petrified ghost left at Hogwarts, had shut herself in her bathroom and howled worse than ever, refusing to talk to anyone - and the ghosts from the Headless Hunt, who had showed up for the deathday party shortly after the Petrification, and haughtily declared that they'd never heard of anything Petrifying any ghost like that, and more than implied that the Hogwarts ghosts had to be a bunch of pathetic wimps.

"No proper ghost would just up and Petrify like that!" huffed Sir Patrick, the ghost Nick had wanted Harry to impress. "Ha! And that Nick thought he belonged with the Headless Hunt! Look at the fellow, all black and immobile! Just doing it for the attention, I shouldn't wonder!" And with that, he and the rest of the Headless Hunt had ridden off on their ghost horses without so much as a backwards glance.

Ronnie might have felt a little bad for Nick over this, but frankly being found unworthy by a society he hadn't qualified for in the first place didn't seem all that important compared to the Petrification. How would Professor Sprout even get enough Mandrakes to restore all the ghosts? Could the ghosts even be revived by the Restorative Draught?

The only one who was happy about the ghosts' Petrification was Filch, who was unable to contain his glee that Peeves was finally subdued and unable to make any more trouble. For several weeks he was almost friendly to students, and Ronnie suspected he sometimes went down to the dungeons just to gloat over Peeves's Petrified form.

Dumbledore had of course talked with Potter's Gang about what they had seen down in the dungeon, but really, it didn't seem to Ronnie like they could tell him all that much that he couldn't surmise for himself after having examined the Petrified party — especially since Harry seemed reluctant to tell him about the voice he'd heard. (Probably he was a little nervous that Peeves's earlier mocking words would be true and that hearing voices really was a sign that he was going insane.)

Since nobody could say what had attacked the ghosts, or whether it was connected to Lavender, or You-Know-Who, there was a bit of a debate about extra security measures, similar to the ones been taken back after You-Know-Who had vanished with Snape and the Invisibility Cloak last year, and for some time, it looked like Quidditch practices would be cancelled again.

But after some careful consideration by the teachers, and to Oliver Wood's great relief, practices continued almost as planned; just with an extra escort and guard to and from the Quidditch pitch.

With all this (and the ever-annoying, ever-present fact of classes and homework), it took a couple of days before Ronnie could really talk to the rest of Potter's Gang about everything.

* * *

"All right, Ronnie," said Hermione, sounding slightly impatient. "What was it that was so important for you to tell us?"

The six of them — Ronnie, Hermione, Harry, Neville, Ginny and Colin — were gathered in Harry and Neville's dorm room a few days after Halloween; the first day they actually managed to get some time to themselves. Dean and Seamus were down in the common room, so for the moment they could talk undisturbed.

Ronnie took a deep breath. _"Malfoy has You-Know-Who's diary!"_ she said.

"What?" said Harry, his eyes widening behind his glasses.

"You're mental!" said Ginny. "First Lockhart, then Wormtail, and now —"

"No! _Listen!"_ said Ronnie. "I've been thinking it over for days now, and it's obvious! Malfoy knew about Harry's Dad and his friends, right?! Back when Harry had that letter from Mister Lupin, Malfoy was talking about what a fat, pathetic excuse for a wizard their friend Peter was! But we know Peter's been dead for eleven years, so how could Malfoy know what kind of person he was? Simple: He got it all from You-Know-Who's diary!"

"I dunno, Ronnie... how would You-Know-Who know about Harry's Dad and his friends?" said Neville in confusion.

 _"Because Sirius Black told him!"_ Ronnie said triumphantly.

They all looked at her with various degrees of scepticism. The exception was, as usual, Colin, who just looked awed and impressed.

"It makes sense," Ronnie insisted. "We know that You-Know-Who wanted to get to Harry's Mum and Dad, right? And Sirius Black went over to his side! Of course he'd have told You-Know-Who everything about their gang, anything that could be used against them! And he could have called Peter a fat, pathetic excuse for a wizard, couldn't he? If he was betraying them, he wouldn't be talking about how brilliant and clever they all were!"

"I... suppose not," said Hermione. "But really, don't you think —"

"And!" Ronnie cut her off. "Malfoy was there at the Hogwarts Express. He was even in our compartment! I had the diary in my trouser pocket, he could have seen the contours of it and guessed what it was. So he waited until we all fell asleep —"

"And he knew we would all fall asleep, did he?" said Hermione. "The odds against it were astronomical, who falls asleep on the Hogwarts express? All ready for the new school year and —"

"Everybody knows the Malfoys are up to their ears in the Dark Arts," Ronnie answered. "Malfoy probably threw hexes and curses since before he could walk. If he wanted to make us all fall asleep, he could have. In fact, that explains why we all fell asleep." Another thought struck her. _"And_ it explains why Crookshanks and Hedwig looked so ruffled when we woke up, as if they'd been in a fight! They must have tried to stop him! So he came into our apartment while we slept, fought off Crookshanks and Hedwig, and then stole the diary from my pocket. That even explains why I was feeling so icky when I woke up. I'd been pawed in my sleep by — _ugh_ — Malfoy."

"You're just like Sherlock Holmes," said Colin admiringly.

Ronnie blinked. "Who?"

"Fictional Muggle character," Hermione explained in a slightly impatient voice. "Detective who solves all kinds of crimes using reason and deduction. But Ronnie, you've missed one important detail."

"Huh?"

"Why would Malfoy take the diary? Even if he saw the contours of it in your pocket, he couldn't possibly have known what it was. For all he knew, it was just a random book you hadn't managed to fit in your trunk."

"Yeah," said Harry, a little hesitantly. "I could see Malfoy get up to all sorts of Dark stuff, but I doubt even he would go through all that trouble just to steal a random book from you."

"Oh," Ronnie felt her spirits sink a little, but moments later they rose again as she remembered something else. "But, no, wait! Malfoy _knew_ about the diary!"

"That's impossible! How?" Hermione demanded.

"He was there at _Flourish & Blotts, _remember? The day Scabbers ran off!"

This crushing piece of evidence was not met with the dawning looks of understanding or gasps of _"Merlin's beard, she's right!"_ that Ronnie had secretly hoped for. In fact, the others were just looking at her as if waiting for her to get to the point.

"He was there when Lockhart gave those free books to Harry and Ginny," she explained patiently. "He could have seen Lockh—" (she cut herself off with a look at Hermione) "— could have seen _whoever it was_ slip the diary into one of the books!"

Hermione frowned. "If he did, he couldn't have had more than a short glimpse of the diary, at most," she said. "I don't think he'd be able to recognise it as something important based on that."

"His family was right in You-Know-Who's inner circle," said Ronnie. "Everyone knows that."

"Yes, when he was a _baby!"_ said Hermione. "So what you're saying is that Malfoy, back at _Flourish & Blotts, _got a two-second glimpse of a little black book, and this was enough for him to instantly recognise a book he couldn't possibly have seen since he was one year old, and probably not even then; and on the train, when he happened to see that you had a book in your pocket, he instantly deduced that it was the same book — despite having no plausible reason to think so." She took a deep breath. "You're right, that makes _perfect_ sense."

"Well, sure, if you're gonna put it like _that_ , it sounds stupid," Ronnie muttered. "But I'm gonna keep an eye on Malfoy nonetheless."

"I think you just _want_ it to be Malfoy," Hermione accused. "You're jumping to some pretty far-fetched conclusions here, and we have absolutely no evidence."

"All right, so let's get some evidence! Harry, can I borrow the Invisibility —"

"No!" Hermione interrupted her before she could finish (and before Harry could react). "You can't go around spying on everyone you suspect of having the diary! And if you're right and it was Voldemort's diary that Petrified Lavender and the ghosts, then you're the _last_ person who should go looking for it."

"I won't get Petrified," said Ronnie. "Lavender and the ghosts were caught by surprise, but I won't be! I'll be on my guard the entire time!"

"You don't know that!" Hermione grabbed both Ronnie's shoulders, her voice turning shrill. "Ronnie, you're _immune to potions!_ If you _did_ get Petrified —" She paused, swallowed, and continued in a much softer tone: "The Mandrake Restorative Draught wouldn't work on you. They might never be able to wake you up."

Ronnie felt as if a black pit had opened in her stomach. She hadn't thought of that. "Oh. Right."

"Promise me you won't do it," said Hermione intensely, still holding onto Ronnie. "Harry, promise me you won't let her do it!"

"Sorry, Ronnie," said Harry. "Suppose I'm with Hermione on this one. Lavender can be brought back. Dumbledore says the ghosts can too. But _you_ couldn't."

"I could," said Ginny suddenly.

Everybody turned to look at her.

"I'm not immune to Potions," she said. "They'd be able to revive me."

"Me too!" Colin piped up. "I wouldn't mind taking the risk!"

"What?" said Ronnie. For a moment, she could see Ginny and Colin for her inner eye, lying on their backs with a glassy stare on their faces, just like Lavender... She shuddered. "Forget it," she said. "Hermione's right. We'll think of something else."

Hermione drew a breath of relief, and Neville looked pretty relieved too, but Ginny frowned.

"We're not babies, we don't need you to hold our hands!" she said in an insulted tone.

"Exactly!" Colin agreed.

"And I'm better at sneaking than you are," said Ginny. "And I know at least as much as you about the diary, since I was with you when you wrote in it!"

"Sorry," said Harry again, "but I'm putting my foot down here! It's _my_ Cloak, and nobody's borrowing it, at least not until we're certain nobody's getting Petrified!"

Neither Ginny nor Colin looked convinced, but thankfully they didn't argue. "Okay," Ginny sighed, "but what do we do then? We can't just sit around and wait for there to be another attack, can we?"

"I didn't say we should," said Harry. "But we need to be smarter about this."

"What about the Marauder's Map?" said Neville suddenly. "That's sort of like a way to keep an eye on Malfoy, isn't it?"

Ronnie thought about it, but then shook her head. "Fred and George wouldn't lend it to us," she said. "You heard how they went on about it. _The secret of our success,_ and all that."

But Ginny, quite unexpectedly, was grinning. "I think I've got an idea," she said. "If you give me a bit of time, I can almost guarantee you that within the week, Fred and George are going to _give_ us the Map."

* * *

Ginny was as good as her word. The following Friday, which was the day before the upcoming Quidditch match, the twins set upon Potter's Gang in the rather crowded common room, and motioned for them to join them in the short stone hallway that connected the portrait of the Fat Lady with the circular common room.

Over the centuries, generations of Gryffindors had sort of adopted this short hallway as a bit of an "emergency privacy room" after curfew, when everyone was confined to Gryffindor tower; a place where you could retreat for brief exchanges of private information or (presumably) a quick snog. It was generally understood, if seldom talked about, that if two or more Gryffindors briefly retreated to the hallway during curfew hours, it was because they wanted a couple minutes' privacy, and the unwritten rule was that you didn't try to snoop or interrupt — at least not for a few minutes. Granted, the rule only counted for a few minutes, so the hallway was useless for longer conversations. Not to mention that it was in no way a guarantee against, just to name a random example, overly-concerned older brothers who wanted to make sure you didn't get into any trouble.

So it was only after careful checking that no other students (and especially Percy) were listening in, that George pulled the familiar-looking old parchment out of his robes. "Fred and I have been thinking," he said. "We reckon you lot probably need this more than we do."

"It's a bit of a loss to us, we will admit," said Fred, "but by now we know all the secret passageways of the school by heart anyway. And really, when you get down to it, avoiding Filch and that cat of his is more of a _sport_ when we don't know exactly where they are at any given moment."

"Right," George nodded. "Should give the old boy a fair chance, after all. And we're really old enough now to manage on our own now."

Ronnie stared at them both, completely flabbergasted. She then looked over at Ginny, who just smiled very sweetly at her in return.

"Harry Potter," said Fred, turning to him after ceremoniously taking the parchment from his twin. "It is our great honour to hereby declare you the Keeper of the Marauder's Map. Use it well, young wizard." He held out the Map for Harry to take.

Harry looked at it, seeming at a loss. "Why — why are you giving it to _me?"_ he said. "Why not Ronnie or Ginny?"

"Because," said Fred with a grin, "they would get into more trouble than they could handle if we gave it to them."

"We would not!" said Ronnie, offended.

"And giving it to _Hermione_ was out of the question; she'd just turn it in to Professor McGonagall or something."

"Hmmm," said Hermione, in a sort of _'I-will-neither-confirm-nor-deny-this'_ way.

"We thought about Neville, but —"

"I'd lose it," said Neville. "Even if I tried to take good care of it, I'd lose it."

"And Colin —" Fred looked at the smallest boy with a shrug. "No offence, but we don't really know you all that well."

"Okay!" said Colin, who didn't seem offended at all.

"But _you,_ Harry," Fred finished, "we've had the pleasure of getting to know quite well. And we trust you to be responsible with the Map — but not _too_ responsible. So take it!"

"Keep an eye on our sisters and keep track of enemies, but don't pass up a chance to have some fun with it either!" said George.

Harry finally did as they asked him, taking the Map in one hand and looking down on it. "Thank you," he said.

"Oh, and we know we showed you how to activate it," said George. "Just tap it with your wand and solemnly swear you're up to no good. But what's also important is that you wipe it after you've used it."

"Wipe it?" Harry repeated.

"Yeah, you tap it with your wand again and say ' _Mischief Managed,'_ " said George. "That'll clear the entire parchment. So that in case someone comes snooping, they'll just think you're carrying a blank piece of parchment."

"But if you don't wipe it, anyone'll be able to read it," Fred added. "And you want to keep the number of people who know about this to a minimum."

"Right, so be careful!"

"But not, as we said, _too_ careful."

The twins winked at Harry, and then, with no further comment they walked off towards the fireplace, leaving Potter's Gang behind with Harry still holding the Marauder's Map.

After a few moments' silence, Ronnie turned to Ginny. "How'd you manage to convince them?!" she demanded. "If I'd tried to get that Map off them, they would have just laughed at me or threatened to prank me or hex me or —"

"That's because you're rubbish at handling them, dear older sister," said Ginny, with a rather self-satisfied look on her freckled face. "You just get angry and sarcastic. With Fred and George you have to be more subtle."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Ginny smiled. "I just told them that if they didn't, you'd charge off somewhere and get yourself into trouble because you wouldn't see what you were up against."

"I would n—" Ronnie began, and then thought better of it.

Harry, probably a little wary that this might be a prank from the twins' side, carefully unfolded the parchment, looked around to check that they were still unobserved, and then tapped the parchment with his wand they way George had done before. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

All at once, the parchment sprang to life, with the ink lines forming the elaborate words that declared that Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs were proud to present the Marauder's Map, followed by the appearance of Hogwarts and the myriad of small dots and tags.

"It really is the Marauder's Map," said Harry, looking at Ginny with some admiration. "You're amazing!"

Ginny blinked and blushed at the sudden praise, and Ronnie was childish enough (and annoyed enough with her sister's smug attitude) to say "Yeah, Harry, I think you should give her a _big wet kiss_ as a thank-you."

Ginny started, her eyes wide, her face redder than her hair. _"Squeak!"_ she squeaked, and then hid her face in her hands.

"What?!" Harry yelped at the same time, turning almost as red as Ginny. "I'm not — Ronnie, be serious!"

"You're horrid," said Hermione to Ronnie.

"So, er, could I see the Map?" said Neville hurriedly, positioning himself between Harry and Ginny . "I'd like to see if — thank you, Harry." He held the Map up and squinted as he looked at all the minuscule, labelled dots. "Er — yes, there's Malfoy right there, he's down in the dungeons with Crabbe and Goyle and Zabini, and a lot of other Slytherins... must be their common room. And here we have — huh!"

"What is it?" At the sight of Neville's widened eyes, Harry seemed to forget his embarrassment and moved to look at the Map.

"Well, someone was by the kitchen, named Peter Pettigrew," said Neville. "He's gone now, but...that was his last name, you know, your Dad's friend, the Peter who died."

They all looked at one another.

"Can't be the same Peter," said Hermione after a while. "If he died at the same time as Harry's parents —"

"Ghost?" Colin suggested.

Hermione shook her head. "The only ghost left is Moaning Myrtle, remember? Most likely it's a relative that was named after the original Peter Pettigrew." She paused, thinking for a moment. "Is that a common practice for the wizarding world? Naming children after relatives?"

"It happens," said Ronnie. "With the Weasleys, we all get our middle names from older relatives."

"Yeah," said Ginny, still rather red but with a sort of vengeful look in her eyes, "that's why _Ronnie's_ middle name is —"

_"Shut up, Ginny!"_

"You know," said Neville hurriedly, "it really was just a short glimpse before he vanished, and the writing's tiny. I could have read it wrong. Maybe it didn't say _'Pettigrew'_ at all, but _'Flowerdew'_ or _'Pattygrow'_ or something like that. _'Peter'_ is a pretty common name, anyway, must be a few of them at Hogwarts. And it's pretty hard to pick out individual names on this, anyway."

"Well," Harry finally said when nobody else had anything to add to that (and it became apparent that Ginny wasn't going to reveal Ronnie's middle name after all.). "Let's just keep checking the Map and see what turns up. There doesn't seem to be much else we can do right now, unless anyone has any brilliant ideas?"

None of them did, and around now a few of the people in the common room seemed to be getting a little curious about what Potter's Gang were doing out in the hallway for so long, so Harry declared that they might as well break it up for now.

And nobody remembered Peter Pettigrew again before much later, which would turn out to be a big error.

* * *

The next day, the first Saturday in November, came the day for the first Quidditch match of the year. It was Gryffindor versus Slytherin, and Harry's first match as the Gryffindor Seeker.

It turned out to be a rather unpleasantly muggy sort of day, cold but with a hint of thunder in the air. Hardly the ideal weather for what was going to be Harry's first real Quidditch match, but the rest of Potter's Gang were determined to be there on the stands, cheering louder than anyone when he caught the Snitch and showed that git Malfoy a thing or two.

"I just hope Harry catches the Snitch before the storm breaks out," said Ronnie as the Gang (at the moment without Harry but with Ginny and Colin) made their way up to the stands.

"I hope he catches the Snitch at all," said Neville. "The Slytherin team has much better broomsticks."

"It's _Harry,"_ said Colin, the epitome of confidence on Harry's behalf. "He could fly circles around everyone else even if all he had to fly on was a — a loo brush." (Ginny stifled a giggle, Hermione rolled her eyes.)

"Yeah," said Ronnie, "and there's more to Quidditch than having a rich father who can buy your place onto the team with a few lousy Nimbus Two Thousands —"

"Two Thousand and Ones," Ginny corrected her. "You don't think Malfoy's Dad would buy _last year's_ model, do you?"

Ronnie scowled, just a little. Of course, she had no say over who Slytherin chose as their Seeker and if they wanted that git Malfoy just because he had the money to buy the entire team, it was no skin off _her_ arse. It was just so — so _infuriating_ that he always seemed to get everything he wanted.

"Harry's a much better flier, though," said Ginny, with absolute confidence even if she hadn't actually seen Malfoy fly. "Nimbus broomstick or not, Harry'll fly his pants off."

 _"Ginny!"_ Ronnie groaned. "I just ate. Please don't try to make me imagine Malfoy with his pants off."

They had to stop a bit after that to wait for Hermione's sudden fit of the giggles to pass, but finally got up to the top row.

The stands were packed; about the only Gryffindor who wasn't present was Parvati, who'd said that watching Quidditch was no fun without Lavender and had opted to stay behind in the castle — but Dean, Seamus and Fay were all there, ready to cheer for Harry as loudly as anyone.

Dean, who was a good artist, had even made a large banner out of an old bed sheet, with a drawing of a roaring lion and the text _"POTTER FOR PRESIDENT."_ (He'd originally planned to write _"MALFOY'S MOTHER WAS A HAMSTER AND HIS FATHER SMELLED OF ELDERBERRIES,"_ which was probably another one of his weird Muggle references, but Hermione had glared at him until he changed it.)

They'd just got settled when Hagrid showed up as well. The wooden stands creaked a bit under his weight, but luckily showed no signs of collapsing.

"Couldn' miss Harry's firs' game! Here, brought a pair o' these," he said, looking almost as excited as Colin as he patted a large pair of binoculars around his neck. "Sorry I'm late, had to re-secure the chicken coop... Another rooster's bin killed."

"Another one?" said Ronnie. "Did you ever find out what killed the first one?"

Hagrid shook his head. "Thought it might be a fox, but if it _is_ , it's the trickiest one I've ever seen. No idea how he even got into the coop... thought I had it so secure that not even a rat could get in."

"Maybe it's not an animal, maybe it's a wizard!" said Colin. "They could cast a spell into the coop, couldn't they?"

Hagrid raised his enormous bushy eyebrows. "What sane wizard would do that? 'Specially since the _hens_ were all perfec'ly fine. 's jus' the _roosters_ what's bin getting it...!"

"I dunno. Maybe someone who's just got it in for roosters!" Colin suggested. "Someone who likes hens but hates roosters?"

"What, someone who likes to sleep in, but wants eggs for breakfast?" said Ronnie. "That's silly. You might as well suggest that it's a basilisk-lover or something." And then, at Colin's blank look, she had to explain: "A basilisk's a huge lethal snake that can kill you just by looking at you. I read about it in one of Charlie's books. Really dangerous, but it can't take the sound of a rooster crowing."

"That is so cool," said Colin. "Why not?"

Ronnie shrugged. "The book didn't say. Just said that if a rooster crows, the basilisk dies. Maybe it's got something to do with the basilisk being hatched from a chicken egg."

"Of course!" Collin nodded in understanding. "It thinks the rooster's its father, so it dies of embarrassment!"

Before Ronnie could comment on this, the stands exploded in a loud cheer.

The two Quidditch teams came out on the pitch, the Gryffindors in the classic scarlet Quidditch robes, and the Slytherins in green. Even at a distance it was hard to miss the fact that the Slytherins were all carrying identical, sleek-looking racing brooms while the Gryffindors' brooms were a mitch-match of whatever they'd been able to find in the school broom-shed that flew all right. (It was clear that Harry's broom was a step above the rest, though; Wood had insisted that the best flier should have the best broom.)

"Hello," came the amplified voice of Lee Jordan from the commentator's stand, "and welcome to the first Quidditch game of the season! It's Gryffindor versus Slytherin! Both teams are playing with new Seekers this season — for Slytherin it's Draco Malfoy, who we all know blatantly bribed his way to the position —"

"Jordan!" came the annoyed voice of Professor McGonagall, who was standing right beside him.

"Sorry, Professor — and Gryffindor's new Seeker is the one and only Harry Potter!"

There was a bit of extra cheering at that, though predictably not from the Slytherin side of the stands, where the boos and hisses dominated. Ronnie shouted as loud as she could, as did Ginny and Colin, to drown the Slytherins out.

Madam Hooch, the flying teacher and general Quidditch supervisor, was already standing right on the middle of the field and calling for the two team captains to come and shake hands before the start — and Oliver Wood and Marcus Flint did as requested, but looked more like they were trying to break each others' hands than wishing each other luck.

"I want a nice, clean game," said Madam Hooch brusquely, just as she always did before a Quidditch match. "Now, on my whistle! Three... Two... one..."

 _"AND THEY'RE OFF!"_ Lee announced as fourteen players shot up into the air.

Ronnie couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride in Harry, as he flew faster and higher than anyone else, gaining height twice as fast as any player on the Slytherin team despite having a much lower-quality broom. _She'd_ been the one to introduce him to flying, last year, and he'd been a prize student who had picked up the intricacies of flying almost faster than she could teach them. There were a few impressed murmurs as he rose up in the air, high above Malfoy.

Ronnie could see the Slytherin git trying to gain the same height as Harry, probably to show off how fast his broom was. He looked like he was trying to taunt Harry, but this did not work as well as he'd probably intended because one of the Bludgers was heading for them at full speed and they had to scatter in order to avoid getting hit.

The Bludger hovered in the air for a split second, and then it shot after Harry, only to be knocked aside by Fred, who had shown up just in the right time.

 _"GO FRED!"_ Ronnie yelled, even if she wasn't at all sure he could hear her.

But the Bludger seemed to have it in for Harry. It shot after him again, forcing him to fly off at full speed. Fred hit it away from Harry again and again, but always it kept coming back, faster and harder.

"Tha's not righ'," said Hagrid, peering up through his binoculars. "Bludgers aren' s'pposed ter act like that! Look at it! There's somethin' fishy goin' on around here!"

The Bludger was attacking Harry from all sides, so fast that it was visible only as a blur in the air. Harry kept dodging it, but even with his talent for flying he would no doubt have been knocked down by it within seconds if it hadn't been for Fred and George, who were now both circling him protectively, their Beater's bats always knocking the persistent ball off-course before it could hit Harry.

The problem with this was that now both the Gryffindor Beaters were occupied with that one Bludger, but the other one was acting normally, flying around and attacking every player indiscriminately. The two Slytherin Beaters kept it away from their team members, but Katie, Angelina, Alicia and Wood all had to dodge it on their own, leading to a number of missed opportunities. Angelina missed an easy goal thanks to that Bludger, and Wood let in two goals because the Bludger stopped him from getting to the right hoop in time.

As if this wasn't enough, now the thunderstorm that had threatened to break out all morning decided to make good on its threat. Thunder cracked across the sky, and soon it was pouring down heavily.

Hagrid, who always had his pink umbrella with him, was kind enough to share it with the kids closest to him. Ronnie found herself squeezed in together with Hermione, Ginny, Neville and Colin, looking up at the grey skies.

"Thank goodness Harry learned that _Impervius_ charm," said Colin, determined to look on the bright side. "Otherwise he'd never be able to see anything in this rain, with his glasses!"

But Harry had enough problems even if his glasses weren't giving him any problems. Despite Fred and George's tireless efforts to keep he mad Bludger away from him, it was attacking him relentlessly — and not only keeping him from looking properly for the Snitch, but constantly threatening to knock him off his broom.

"Someone's tampered with that Bludger!" Hagrid growled. "Mark my words! It ain't s'pposed ter be doin' that! If I ever find out who's responsible...!"

 _"Malfoy!"_ Ronnie narrowed her eyes and squinted to peer at the greenish blur flying there in the rain. Didn't he look even more smug than normal...?

"I don't think Malfoy could have done it," said Hermione dubiously. "I've read that it takes strong magic to tamper with a Bludger, and —"

"Ronnie," said Neville, and when she turned to look a him she could see that his face had gone slightly green. "What if it's You-Know-Who's diary?"

Ronnie's heart felt like it turned into ice. _"STOP THE GAME!"_ she screamed.

The people closest to her at the stand turned to look at her questioningly, but it was clear that her voice wasn't carrying very far over the loud sound of the rain.

But Hagrid had got the gist. "Cover yer ears," he told Potter's Gang, and then he raised his voice and shouted: _**"WOOD! CALL FER A TIME-OUT!"**_

Thank goodness he'd told them to cover their ears. Hagrid, when shouting at the top of his voice, was loud enough that he didn't need a microphone or an Amplifying charm: his voice carried over the sound of the rain and thunder like nothing. This time, everyone at the Quidditch stands, and all the players, turned to look.

Wood, who wasn't about to argue with the shouting Hagrid, signalled to Madam Hooch for a time-out. The players all descended from the sky, with Harry, Fred and George still trying to beat off the mad Bludger as they came in for a landing. Luckily, George got in a particularly good hit that sent it sailing away for long enough that they could land without getting killed.

Hagrid motioned for Potter's Gang to follow him and then made his way down the stands and towards the pitch. Ronnie, following closely, had never had such a clear pathway down from a crowded Quidditch stand; when Hagrid wanted to go somewhere, people did _not_ stand in his way.

It was a small crowd that met the Gryffindor team down on the field, as the entire Potter's Gang, plus Ginny and Colin, had followed.

"What is all this?" Wood demanded as they all approached.

"Someone's fixed that one Bludger," said George before either Ronnie or Hagrid could say anything. "It keeps trying to murder Harry."

"Fixed the Bludger? They've all been locked up in Madam Hooch's office since our last practice, and nothing was wrong with them then..." Wood looked anxious.

"I don' care where they've bin, tha' Bludger's bin tampered with," said Hagrid. "Look out — here it comes!"

And the mad Bludger, which didn't seem to have realised that there was a time-out going on, came zooming down from the sky, headed straight for Harry.

Harry yelped and managed to throw himself aside just in time, as George swung his bat again to send the iron ball flying away. This time, however, he didn't manage to send it flying far enough, and within seconds it had turned to fly back towards Harry.

But before it could reach him, it stopped in mid air, completely suspended.

Professor Dumbledore was approaching. He was holding out his wand, pointing it straight at the Bludger. He wasn't speaking any kind of incantation or spell, but even Ronnie could feel the sheer power he was using to keep the disgruntled iron ball in check.

"Hagrid," he said, never breaking wand-contact with the Bludger but nodding at the large man.

"Righ' on it, Professor Dumbledore, sir." Hagrid reached out an enormous hand and grabbed the Bludger as Dumbledore broke wand contact. The Bludger sprang back to life, beginning to struggle to get free of Hagrid's grip, but he held it firmly, like an iron vice.

"D'you believe me _now?"_ said George rather sourly to Wood.

"This is insane!" said Alicia. "Let's call for an inquiry..."

"No!" said Harry. "If we quit now, we forfeit the match! That's just what the Slytherins want!"

"Harry, don't be daft!" said Katie. "You _want_ your skull smashed by that crazy Bludger?"

"This is your fault, you know!" George was still angry at Wood. " _Catch the Snitch or die trying_ — what'd you go and tell him that for?!"

Several more people were starting to come up to them now. The Slytherin team weren't particularly shy about their curiosity, and several of the teachers were showing up as well; there was McGonagall, and Sinistra, the respective Heads of the two houses, and there (Ronnie groaned inwardly) there came Lockhart as well.

"I say, is there a problem?" said Lockhart, looking rather unashamedly good even in the pouring rain. "Rowdy Bludger giving you a bit of a headache, eh? Well, not to worry, I know just the charm to calm it down a little... Er... That is..." He froze in the middle of pulling out his wand, and took a few steps back as Professor Flamel suddenly showed up next to him.

Lockhart and Flamel looked at one another for a brief second.

"...that is," Lockhart continued in what he probably thought was a casual tone, as he took a few steps back, "I see you have it well under control. Yes, mustn't crowd you, come on, everyone, break it up, the Headmaster has everything under control!"

"How the ruddy hell did yeh get 'im ter back off like tha'?" said Hagrid, looking at Flamel with astonishment on his face.

Flamel, however, just shrugged. "I notice he does not like to be around me. I do not know why. But right now, I do think we have, how do you say, more pressing matters to worry about."

"Professor Dumbledore," said Ronnie, managing to cut through the crowd and stand before the Headmaster. "Someone's after Harry! That Bludger's connected to You-Know-Who...! You _have to_ call off the match!"

"Call off the match?!" Wood was livid.

"I don't need to be protected," Harry insisted.

"Actually," said Dumbledore mildly, "if the equipment has been sabotaged, and it certainly seems that way, then I cannot in good conscience let the match go on. Quidditch is traditionally a rough game, and injuries will happen, but let us not let sabotage be the reason."

He tapped his throat with his wand and then turned around to face the stands. His voice boomed out, almost as loud as Hagrid's: _"Due to the discovery of sabotage on the equipment, the rest of the match between Gryffindor and Slytherin will regrettably have to be postponed until further notice."_

There was a collective groan from the stands, and a few students booed. The Slytherin team all looked sour.

 _"I know it is a disappointment,"_ Dumbledore boomed, _"but the good news is that there will be a rematch later this month, when all equipment has been checked and clear for use. With any luck, the weather will have improved by then as well!"_

Some of the students, at least, seemed a little consoled by this, but the Slytherin team were glaring at the Headmaster.

"And I suppose," said Marcus Flint acidly, "that the goals scored by Slytherin in this match will be null and void for the new one?"

Dumbledore tapped his throat with his wand again, and turned towards him with a warm smile. "Oh, I hardly think so," he said. "Goals scored fairly and squarely should of course still count, wouldn't you say, Madam Hooch?"

The flying teacher, peering through the rain with her hawk-like eyes, nodded. "The score is currently thirty-nil to Slytherin," she said. "Of course the rematch will start with that score."

Flint blinked. "Oh," he said. "Well, all right then."

"But might I say, Mister Flint," Dumbledore continued, "that I am impressed at your suggestion to count those goals null and void. You are a true sportsman, and a credit to the Slytherin team, to want to give your opponent that chance."

"Er." Flint looked completely dumbfounded at this unexpected praise. "Yes. Well. That is. Sportsmanship and, yes. Right. _What are you lot standing around here for!"_ he suddenly barked at the rest of the team. _"To the showers! All of you!"_

The Slytherin team all jumped to obey, though Malfoy couldn't resist hurling a "see you later, Potter!" as he scampered off.

"Right," Wood sighed. "I suppose we'd better hit the showers as well, team. Good job, all, despite everything. Nice flying, Harry. For the pick-up, we'll _crush_ the Slytherins, right?"

 _"Right!"_ the team, including Harry, chorused.

"Wha' should we do with this?" Hagrid was still holding the Bludger in his hands. It seemed to have calmed down now, but Dumbledore didn't take any chances; he pointed his wand at it and levitated it out of Hagrid's hands, keeping it suspended in the air a few feet in front of himself.

"I shall take it to my office," he said, "and try my utmost to see what exactly was done to it. Nicolas, Minerva, Aurora — would you care to accompany me?"

Flamel, McGonagall and Sinistra all nodded.

"And Hagrid, would you mind waiting for the teams and escort them back to the castle once they come out of the shower?" said Dumbledore. "I doubt anyone will try attacking Harry again at the moment, but — just in case."

"O' course, Professor Dumbledore, sir!"

"As for you," Dumbledore looked at Ronnie and the rest of the Gryffindors who were still gathered there, and gave them a smile. "Why don't you accompany us back to the castle and then retreat to your common room. You will catch your death of cold if you keep standing here in the rain."

* * *

It was a comfortably dry Potter's Gang (minus Harry but plus Ginny and Colin) who reached the portrait of the Fat Lady a few minutes later. This time there hadn't been anyone waiting at the main entrance with towels, but Dumbledore had declared that they "probably shouldn't give Mister Filch any more work" and had waved his wand to quickly dry them all out.

Hermione was determined to learn that charm for herself. "It doesn't seem too complicated," she said. "And it would save us all a lot of time in situations like this."

Ronnie couldn't resist teasing her a little. "Yes! We could shower with our clothes on! And then dry out with magic! Body and clothes, clean and dry in one go!"

"That," said the Fat Lady from her portrait on the wall, "might be the most disgusting idea I've heard in some time."

Ronnie giggled. "Password's still _'wattlebird,'_ right?"

"Hmm." The Fat Lady looked at her with disapproval, but the portrait still swung aside to reveal the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. A number of the other Gryffindors were already there, talking about the disappointing Quidditch match and speculating about who might have fixed that Bludger which seemed so intent on killing Harry — and, surprisingly, Parvati was waiting by the entrance.

"Hi, Parvati," said Ronnie. "What's —"

"Where's Harry?" Parvati interrupted her.

"Er. Shower, I think," said Ronnie. "He'll show up soon enough, if you wait."

"No," said Parvati. "No. No, it's not him I — Ronnie, there's something — oh, just come on!" She suddenly grabbed Ronnie's hand and pulled her in along the short hallway that led to the common room proper, and across the room towards the round door that led to the spiral staircase towards the girls' dormitories.

"Wha — Parvati, have you gone mental?!" Ronnie stumbled and struggled to keep her balance as the girl pulled her along.

The others followed suit, of course; Ginny up front and the rest close behind.

"What's going on?"

"Parvati —"

"What do you want Ronnie for?"

"Is this about —"

_"Colin, no! Don't go up those stairs!"_

That last warning had been Hermione's, but it came too late. Colin had overtaken the others and was close on Ronnie and Parvati's heels, halfway up the stairs — when it happened. There was a loud, wailing sound, and the steps all melted together to form a long and incredibly slippery stone slide.

Ronnie, Parvati, Ginny and Colin all tumbled and fell, before sliding back down at great speed, colliding with Neville at the bottom of the newly-created slide, and ending up in a confusing heap by the feet of Hermione, who alone had managed to stay upright.

"Boys aren't allowed in the girls' dormitories," she sighed.

"But — _you've_ been in the _boys'_ dormitories," Colin protested weakly from the bottom of the pile.

"Yes, well, the Founders were rather old-fashioned about that," said Hermione, sounding a little embarrassed. "It says in _Hogwarts: A History_ that they thought girls were more trustworthy."

"Or they wanted the girls to take a bit more initiative," said Ronnie. "Colin, gerroff."

They all managed to untangle themselves from one another and get back onto their feet (and Ronnie suspected that she wasn't the only one internally cursing the Founders for this stupid charm — something told her that they in the eagerness to keep the boys out of the girls' dormitories really hadn't thought things through), and Parvati spent an unusually long time brushing imaginary dust off her robe, refusing to look the others in the eyes.

"Well," said Ronnie, brushing aside a stray twig of hair from her eyes and looking at her embarrassed dorm-mate. "Now we can't go up until the stairs reform, so mind telling us what that was about?"

Parvati finally met her eyes again. "Well... there's a house-elf in our dormitory," she said.

"...oh?" Ronnie wasn't quite sure why this would have Parvati's knickers in a twist. Fred and George had once said that there were several house-elves at Hogwarts, who did the cooking, and the cleaning that old Filch couldn't, so that one would be in the dormitory wasn't too surprising — well, the fact that it had let itself be seen was perhaps a little strange, since house-elves generally stayed out of sight, but still...

"Yes, and he wants to see you," said Parvati.

"Me?!" Ronnie blinked. "Why does a house-elf want to see me?"

"I don't know! I found him — well — er... I went up to the hospital wing to see Lavender, like Ginny said..."

"How was she?" said Colin.

"Petrified," Parvati answered with a sigh. "Hermione was right, I don't think she ever knew I was there. But there was this house-elf, and he was waling about something and punching himself, and he was surprised to see me at first, but then he asked if I was a friend of, er Harry Potter's, er, Miss Wheezy."

"Wheezy?" said Colin.

_"Weasley."_

"Oh, right."

"But —?" Ronnie cut herself off, because all of a sudden, she remembered Harry's story from this Summer; how a barmy house-elf had showed up and got him into trouble, which was really when all the problems of this year had started. What had Harry said that elf's name was, again? _Dibble?_ No. _Droopy? Dopey?_

 _"Dobby!"_ Ginny exclaimed, clearly remembering the same story. "Is the elf's name Dobby?"

"Yes!" Parvati nodded, looking surprised. "How did you know that?"

Ronnie and Ginny looked at one another. "Harry told us he'd met a house-elf named Dobby," said Ronnie, deciding to make it simple. "But what's _he_ doing here? And wanting to see _me?"_

"And if it's a _boy_ elf, how come he's in the _girls'_ dormitory?" said Colin, before being shushed by Hermione.

"How should I know? I couldn't get any sense out of him!" said Parvati in an exasperated tone. "He just wanted to talk to you, and I was hoping that maybe you could get him to — _oh!"_

The "oh" part was in response to the loud _thunk!_ noise that signalled that the staircase had finally decided to stop being a slide and was available to be used as a staircase again.

Parvati and Ronnie exchanged glances. Usually they didn't have very much in common, but at the moment they were perfectly in sync. As one, they bolted and began rushing up the stairs. (The footsteps behind them clued Ronnie in that Hermione and Ginny were following them — the fact that the staircase did not turn into a slide again suggested that Neville and Colin weren't.)

Ronnie reached the second-year dormitory first, and rushed inside to see...

...a knobbly and skinny little creature with bat-like ears, huge eyes and a long, thin nose, sitting on her bed, and, of all things, with Crookshanks in its lap.

The cat turned to look at her, with a somewhat triumphant look in his yellow eyes, of the kind he usually got whenever he was pleased with something he'd done.

For the first time in her life, Ronnie found herself face to face with a real, live house-elf. It looked skinny and scraggly, and decidedly less cute than the illustrations in the books Mum had read to her when she was younger — and the pillowcase it was wearing as its clothing was old and torn in several places — but a house-elf it was.

"Hello, Miss," said the elf in a high-pitched, slightly trembly, but definitely male voice. "Hello, Misses," he added as, in short order, Parvati, Ginny and Hermione joined Ronnie by the door. "Dobby would raise himself and bow, Misses, but Mister Kitty seems to not want Dobby to move."

That was a surprise. Though Ronnie knew from experience how hard it could be to get Crookshanks off your lap if he didn't want to move, she had heard about house-elves and how absurdly powerful their magic could be. She didn't doubt for a second that if this Dobby had truly wanted to move, he wouldn't have had any problems getting Crookshanks off him. For some reason, he was _letting_ Crookshanks keep him down... and Crookshanks was perfectly aware of this.

"That's... You're a house-elf?" said Hermione, her eyes wide.

"Indeed, Miss, indeed," said Dobby. "Dobby the house-elf. Dobby is sorry to impose, Miss, but Miss Parvitty —"

"Parvati," said Parvati.

"—Miss Parvitty says she would find Harry Potter's Wheezy."

Deciding that trying to correct him about the pronunciation of her name, Ronnie stepped a little closer to the elf. "Well," she said, "you have two Wheezys — _Weasleys_ right here." She indicated herself and Ginny. "Why did you want to see us?"

Dobby looked down at Crookshanks in his lap, then back up at Ronnie, His bulging eyes were filled with worry. _"You must tell Harry Potter,"_ he said intensely, _"that he must leave Hogwarts! At once!"_

"What?!"

"Dobby warned Harry Potter this Summer, Miss, Dobby said Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts, but Harry Potter didn't listen. Harry Potter returned to Hogwarts, even when Dobby tried to stop him. Dobby thought perhaps when Harry Potter missed the train to Hogwarts, he would see —"

"Wait," said Hermione, frowning. "How did you know Harry missed the train?" It looked like something dawned on her, and when she spoke again, it was in the tone of someone who had finally figured out something that she'd been mulling over for a long time. "It was _you,_ wasn't it? _You_ were the one who blocked the barrier to Platform Nine-And-Three-Quarters, so Harry and Ginny couldn't get through!"

Dobby's lower lip trembled a little, but he nodded. "Dobby hid and watched for Harry Potter, and when Harry Potter arrived with the littlest Wheezy, Dobby sealed the gateway."

 _"You prick!"_ Ginny snapped. "We ran straight into the barrier! It bloody hurt!"

"Dobby is sorry, Miss," Dobby squeaked. "Dobby had to go iron his hands afterwards —" (He held up his hands, which were still heavily bandaged) "— but Dobby didn't care, Miss, for he thought Harry Potter would be safe if he did not get to Hogwarts! Better hurt than dead, Miss! But then Dobby found out that Harry Potter had still gone to Hogwarts anyway —"

"Of course he did!" Ronnie frowned. "You think we would have left him behind?"

Dobby looked at her, with an almost sad expression. "The Wheezys is noble and kind," he said. "The Wheezy family takes Harry Potter to their home, treats him like family, loves him like family. Dobby understands, Miss. That's why Dobby must ask _you_ to tell him to leave Hogwarts!"

"The hell I will!" Ronnie growled. This Dobby was really starting to annoy her.

"You must, Miss, you must! Harry Potter is in grave danger here at Hogwarts! Harry Potter will not listen to Dobby, will not see sense even when Bludgers attacks him —"

"That Bludger was _your_ doing?!" Ronnie had to restrain herself from attacking the elf right there and then. "You could have _killed_ him with that, you bastard!"

"Not kill, Miss, never kill!" Dobby looked genuinely upset at the thought. "Maybe hurt, a little. But better hurt than dead! You doesn't know the terrible things going on at Hogwarts this year..." He looked around nervously, as if someone was listening, and continued in a softer voice: "Terrible secrets, Miss. Secrets of the past coming back to haunt the present."

"Secrets of the past?"

"Dark deeds is planned! Dangerous and horrible!" The elf looked around again, clearly terrified of something. "Dobby comes to Hogwarts and finds they has already started!"

The four girls looked at one another. "The... Petrifications?" said Parvati.

Dobby nodded vigorously. "Poor little girl in the hospital wing," he said, his voice cracking a little. "Dobby thought he might could help her... but the magic is too strong, Dobby cannot wake her up!" He let out a loud wail of despair and grief.

Just like that, Ronnie's anger at the miserable little creature vanished. He'd been trying to help Lavender. He'd been trying to help Harry too, he'd just been incredibly stupid about it. After a certain instance with a flying car, Ronnie could sympathise.

She moved closer to him, sitting down next to him. For a moment, Dobby looked like he was about to raise himself, but Crookshanks shifted ever so slightly on his lap, and he remained seated.

"And 'tis only the beginning, it will get worse, so much worse!" he said, his voice back under control. "Harry Potter cannot, _must_ not be here for that! Harry Potter is too good, too great, too kind!" A slight tone of awe crept into his voice. "Harry Potter once asked Dobby to sit with him... Like an _equal_..."

"That sounds like Harry," said Ginny, and Ronnie had to agree.

Dobby's tone of awe was replaced with his more normal worry and fear. "So Misses must understand that Harry Potter must not be here when the horrible things happens!"

"Yes, yes, all right, _but what's going on?"_ Ronnie fought to stay calm and suspected she wasn't doing a very good job. "What horrible things? What's gonna happen that's worse than the Petrifications? Look, you want me to tell Harry to leave, but if I do he's gonna want to know why! And then it's not gonna help if I just say something vague about ' _secrets of the past'_ or whatever."

"Harry Potter will listen to you," said Dobby. "You is Harry Potter's Wheezy. Harry Potter knows you loves him."

"I —" Ronnie felt herself turn pink.

"Please, Miss!"

"Is this about Voldemort's diary?" said Hermione, who had also come closer.

Dobby let out a loud wail of shock. "Speak not the name, Miss, _speak not the name!"_

"Fear of a name only increases fear of the —" Hermione began, but Ginny nudged her and shook her head. And for once, Hermione did not finish her favourite quote about fear and names. "All right, I'm sorry," she said a little sheepishly before her voice got stronger again: "But it is, isn't it? Do you know who has the diary now? Do you know who's Petrified Lavender and the ghosts?"

"Miss doesn't know what she is asking Dobby," Dobby squeaked. "They is dangerous! Fifty years ago, when it happened last —" He made a half-choked noise and covered his mouth with his bandaged hands.

"This has happened before?!" Ronnie burst out. "And how d'you _know_ all this?"

But Dobby shook his head furiously and pounded on his bald skull with both fists. "Dobby cannot say! Dobby cannot _say!"_

"Hey, stop that!" Ronnie grabbed the elf's bony hands to stop him from punching himself, as Crookshanks looked up at them with his yellow eyes."Calm down, will you?"

"We're all going to die, aren't we?" said Parvati in a small voice. "Or Petrified, like poor Lavender! I don't want to die before I'm even thirteen!"

"Parvati, you're not going to die!" said Hermione.

"How do you know that?" Parvati suddenly snapped. "This is the second year in a row that You-Know-Who is terrorising the school in some way, and the teachers can't do anything, and even Lockhart isn't doing anything, and — and I haven't talked to Padma in _days_ , and Lavender is just lying there like she's dead, and I never thought I'd miss _Peeves_ , but I do, I _miss bloody Peeves playing pranks on everyone!_ This wasn't what I wanted when I started Hogwarts! I just — I'm sorry! I can't do this!"

With that, breathing rather heavily, she turned around and stormed out of the dormitory.

There was a brief silence, and then Ginny sighed. "I'll go check if she's all right," she said, and hurried after Parvati.

Ronnie and Hermione looked at one another, and then down at Dobby, who was still sitting on Ronnie's bed with a persistent Crookshanks in his lap.

"Dobby didn't mean to upset Miss Parvitty," the elf said miserably. " _Bad_ Dobby! _Bad_ —!"

_"For the sake of Merlin's arse, stop hitting yourself!"_

"Please, Miss, just tell Harry Potter to leave Hogwarts and ask no more!" Dobby squeaked, but he did stop hitting himself. "Please, ask not Dobby to betray his family's secrets!"

"Your family!" Ronnie could have punched herself just as hard as Dobby just had. Of _course_. It made sense. Dobby belonged to an arsehole family, but suffered from the disadvantage of not being an arsehole himself. And families would talk amongst themselves, and nobody ever knew, or cared, if the house-elf was listening in.

And what family did they know who were total arseholes, and would be rich enough to own a house-elf?"

"You're with the Malfoys, aren't you?" she said.

"Honestly, Ronnie, you and your obsession with —" Hermione began, but Dobby was so startled that he almost fell back.

"Miss _knows?!"_ he shrieked.

A stunned silence fell over the dormitory.

"Yeah," said Ronnie, feeling very pleased with herself. "'Cause I _deduce_ stuff using logic and reason. I'm like that Muggle girl Colin talks about, Shirley Holes!"

Hermione hid her face in her hands. _"Shirley Holes..."_ she groaned.

"Yeah!" said Ronnie, nodding in great satisfaction. _"That's_ who I am! So how 'bout it, Dobby? I know _everything_ , so you're not betraying any secrets by telling me!"

Dobby looked like he was tempted, but then violently shook his head. "Dobby is sorry! Dobby can't say! Not even to Miss Shirley Holes!" He looked around desperately, as if trying to spot something he could hit himself over the head with. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you looked at it) the only thing within reach was a pillow — which he did make a grab for but apparently changed his mind about. Instead, to make up for it, he grabbed his long, thin nose and twisted it around, hard, until tears of pain welled up in his eyes.

"Why do you keep doing that?" said Hermione after regaining her voice.

"Dobby has to punish himself, Miss," Dobby explained. "Dobby is almost disobeying his family. If they knew Dobby was here, and talking to Misses..." He boxed his own ears to make the point. "Bad Dobby! _Not a person_ must know the secrets of the Malf— of Dobby's family!"

"But —" said Hermione helplessly.

Something lit up in Ronnie's head. She really must be channelling her inner Shirley Holes, because she'd just had an idea.

She gently placed a hand on the elf's shoulder, making sure to keep her voice soft. "Dobby," she said. "We wouldn't make you betray your family. You shouldn't tell us anything. But..." She motioned to Crookshanks, who was still lying demonstratively on Dobby's lap. "You could tell _him_ , couldn't you? He's not a person."

Elf and cat looked at one another.

"Mister Kitty could not tell Miss Shirley Holes anything that Dobby told him..." said Dobby slowly, and Ronnie could see that he was drawing the same conclusions she just had. "Kitties cannot talk to humans. Kitties cannot spread secrets."

"Exactly! So you wouldn't be betraying your family at all, would you?"

There was a brief smile on Dobby's lips, but then he turned towards her and said in a serious voice: "Miss must promise not to listen in!"

"Witch's honour!" said Ronnie hurriedly. "C'mon, Hermione, let's go see how Parvati is doing — oh, and you know where we haven't been in a long time? The _library!"_ (She had to suppress a giggle at the shocked look Hermione gave her.) "I bet Harry's back from the Quidditch pitch now, we should go round up Ginny and the boys and see if we can look things up in the library together."

Hermione reached out and put her palm to Ronnie's forehead. "No," she said after a couple of seconds, "you don't seem to have a fever."

"Oh, quit that." Ronnie waved Hermione's hand away and instead placed an arm around her shoulder. "You're not upset because I'm borrowing your standard-solution of going to the library, are you?"

Hermione blinked. "Of course not, I'd be thrilled if you decided to love the library more, but —"

"Wonderful places, libraries!" said Ronnie, enjoying the rare occasion of her knowing more than Hermione did. "Very informative. Have a nice talk with Crookshanks, Dobby!"

"Dobby hopes he will see you again, Miss Shirley Holes!" Dobby called as she led Hermione out of the dormitory.

"What are you doing?" Hermione hissed as the door clicked shut behind them. "I know Crookshanks is clever, but what good is Dobby telling him the Malfoys' secrets going to do? If this is another one of your hare-brained schemes —!"

"Not _hare_ -brained, but possibly _cat_ -brained," Ronnie quipped. "Come on, Hermione, are we witches or not? I know there are spells that lets you talk to animals, and I bet anything that we can find at least one in the library!"

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Notes:** Ronnie, Ronnie, Ronnie. "Shirley Holes." _Honestly._
> 
> Okay, confession time: Part of why this chapter took so long was that I had to rewrite it three times... and part of the reason for that is that I _hate_ Quidditch. Well, "hate" might be too strong a word; I find it extremely dull and uninteresting, and every time it shows up in canon I skim those sections. (Except the bit in Half-Blood Prince when Luna is the commentator!) I was actually pretty pleased that I managed to omit Quidditch entirely from the first _Weasley Girl_ story — outside the minor running gag of Oliver Wood's frustration when Quidditch keeps getting cancelled, that is. 
> 
> Originally I'd planned to continue this running gag; things would keep happening throughout the Hogwarts years that kept Harry from playing Quidditch, or the matches cancelled, and each time Wood would grow more livid... but in the end, the story didn't take that turn. Cancelling Quidditch before Harry got to play this year would just seem like a rehash of last year, and the way I'd kept mentioning Harry's amazing flying skills there was no way he wouldn't make the team. So I resigned myself to the inevitable and accepted that I'd have to write at least a couple of scenes where Harry actually played the ruddy game.
> 
> Thank goodness for Dobby and his rogue Bludger, because at least this way the Quidditch match got some plot relevance.
> 
> Also, fic title is quoted in this chapter! When I was still pondering what to call this fic, and making the first plans to what the plot would be; what parts of canon should remain the same and what parts should change, I had the distinct idea that Dobby, when he showed up, would use the phrase "secrets of the past" at least once. Because it sounded like something he'd say. I decided I liked the phrase and decided to promote it to fic title; especially since it fit in so well with all the secrets and hints of past goings-on that were in the plot. 
> 
> So now you know!


	12. If I Could Talk To The Animals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're back again! Shorter wait this time, but the chapter's shorter too. Still, this story's definitely going to be longer than the first Weasley Girl story; I'm not quite certain how much longer yet, but we're definitely not wrapping this one up in thirteen chapters. If I'm to guess, I'd say... Ehhhhh... Somewhere between sixteen and twenty chapters, plus epilogue. That's just me guessing, of course.
> 
> And then of course there'll be the third story in the trilogy, but who knows how long that'll be?

_The ability to communicate with animals — collectively known as Zoolingualism — is a branch of Magizoology that has over the years largely fallen out of use. To quote the famous Magizoologist Gulliver Pokeby (author of the book 'Why I Didn't Die When the Augurey Cried'): "it's mostly because those ruddy beasts never have anything interesting to say."_

_There is, however, another stigma against Zoolingualism: Several branches of it are closely tied to the Dark arts, and many of the most famous Zoolinguists have also been famous Dark wizards or witches. One needs only mention Morgana and her power to communicate with and control small animals, or of course Salazar Slytherin's infamous ability to speak Parseltongue, the language of serpents — a hereditary ability that he passed down to his descendants, several of which were noted Dark wizards and witches in their own right. Most recently, of course, the ability to speak Parseltongue was displayed by the late Dark Lord, He Who Must Not Be Named._

_Thus, among the general populace, Zoolingualism has gained and maintained somewhat of a Dark reputation. Not, perhaps, Dark magic in and of itself, but certainly a sign that the speaker is closely tied to the Dark Arts.  
_

 

Ronnie looked up from the book, feeling just a little annoyed. "Oh _come on!_ Talking to animals is Dark, now?" she muttered. "Just get to the part about the spell, will you? I _know_ there's a spell here. Or are you too scared of teaching me _Dark_ magic?"

It was the day after the Quidditch match, and Potter's Gang were all gathered in the library, taking advantage of a Sunday with no classes and, for once, no homework, to read up on animal communications.

Neville, when hearing about Dobby, had suggested that they tell Professor Dumbledore — but Ronnie hadn't wanted to, at least not yet. Partly it was a weird kind of reluctance to present such, well, scant information to him; "a house-elf says terrible things are happening" didn't seem like much to go on. Add to it that if Dumbledore found out about Dobby and the Malfoys... Well, he'd want to investigate further, wouldn't he? And that would mean that Lucius Malfoy might find out that Dobby had been trying to warn Harry, and that again would probably mean the poor house-elf would pay dearly for it. And his life seemed to be bad enough as it was without Potter's Gang to add to his misery.

No, much better to find out what they could on their own, and then present the finished case to Dumbledore. Even if it did mean that all the Quidditch equipment was currently being needlessly searched for traces of sabotage. But that only meant a temporary inconvenience anyway, since the teachers wouldn't find anything now that Dobby's curse on that one Bludger was lifted.

(Secretly, though, Ronnie did have another reason for not telling Dumbledore, one she barely even wanted to admit to herself: If she did talk to Dumbledore about this, and he fixed everything, there would be no need for her to learn to talk to Crookshanks. And, given how that stupid book went on about how talking to animals had a Dark reputation, maybe Dumbledore would even forbid her from learning it!)

And so, here they were — Ronnie, Harry, Ginny, Hermione, Neville and Colin (they'd asked Parvati too, but she'd declined), gathered around one of the bigger tables in the library and with all the books on Magizoology and animal-related magic they could find.

Madam Pince had looked at them suspiciously, but Hermione, who happened to be one of the few students that the librarian actually approved of, had assured her that they wouldn't cause any trouble.

Ronnie was certain that the key to talking to animals lay in one of these books.It _would_ be easier, though, if _certain_ books would just _get to the point,_ instead of blathering on about how Zoolingualism was supposed to be Dark or whatever.

She gave the offending book in her hands a glare and made a mental note to remember the author so that she could boycott any other books they wrote.

"Reading something you don't like?" said Harry, peeking over her shoulder. After a few second, he added: "Oh. I didn't know Salazar Slytherin could talk to snakes." (For some reason, he sounded a little worried.) "And Voldemort as well?"

"Yeah, well, must've been one of his redeeming qualities," said Ronnie.

"Talking to snakes is a redeeming quality?" said Ginny dubiously.

"Snakes are animals too," Ronnie huffed. "Not very cuddly animals, but still animals. Bet snakes have loads of interesting things to say, no matter what that idiot Pokeby thought."

"So that's why Slytherin House has a snake as its symbol? Because Slytherin could talk to snakes?!" said Colin, sounding excited. "Does that mean Gryffindor could talk to lions?!"

"Er —" Ronnie had to stop and think about this for a moment. Colin had the weirdest leaps of logic sometimes. "I don't think so," she finally said. "It's more symbolic, about lions being brave and all that, right?"

"Oh." Colin looked disappointed for about a millisecond, and then he was back to his trademark irrepressible excitement: "What about Hufflepuff? Could Hufflepuff talk to badgers?"

"No!" said Ronnie. "And before you ask, Ravenclaw couldn't talk to ravens —"

"Eagles," Hermione corrected her, without even looking up from her own book. "Ravenclaw's symbol is an eagle, not a raven."

Ronnie felt herself go pink with embarrassment. "Well, far as I know, Ravenclaw bloody couldn't talk to eagles or ravens or flamingos or Golden Snidgets or any kind of bird! Or other animal!" She buried herself in her book again to hide her blush.

"I got the wrong book. All I can find is a lot of stuff about Animagi," said Neville, putting down his own book with a small sigh.

"What's an Animagi?" Nobody was surprised that the question came from Colin.

"An _Animagus,"_ Neville explained, "is a witch or a wizard who can turn into an animal at will."

 _"Cool!"_ Colin grinned widely. "Could _we_ become that? I bet if we all turned into cats, we could talk to Crookshanks, no problem!"

"I'm sorry, Colin, but it's supposed to be really difficult," said Neville. "Says here there's only been like seven registered Animagi this century. Oh — it says that Professor McGonagall is one of them!"

"Really?" Harry, who had been oddly quiet since his comment about Slytherin, looked interested at this. "What does she turn into?"

"Er, a cat, actually," said Neville. "D'you think she'd talk to Crookshanks for... No, probably not," he finished in a glum tone.

Ronnie thought about their Head of House. McGonagall was decent enough in her way, but really strict, and — and besides, she'd be even more likely than Dumbledore to raise hell with the Malfoys and accidentally get poor Dobby into trouble. Besides, getting McGonagall to talk to Crookshanks would mean Ronnie wouldn't get to. Because their strict Head of House might well decide that Potter's Gang had no business learning a _(pshaw)_ potential Dark Art like talking to animals. It was all too easy imagining her: _"You want to do_ _ **what**_ _, Miss Weasley?"_

"No," said Ronnie firmly. "No point in involving Professor McGonagall. We'll do this ourselves."

"But we could turn into cats, couldn't we? If we learned how," said Colin.

"Problem is that you don't get to pick which animal you turn into," said Neville, motioning to the book to point out his source.

"Oh. Who gets to pick that, then?"

"Says here that it's meant to be a reflection of your inner self, or something. So I suppose I'd be a mouse." Neville looked down, that last part coming out as a murmur.

"You wouldn't be a mouse!" Ronnie protested. "You'd be a lion or something. And Harry would be, er, an owl, or an eagle, because he's good at flying —" (Harry looked rather pleased at the prospect) "— and Hermione would be a raven 'cause she's smart, and Ginny —"

"I'd be a horse," said Ginny.

"A horse?!" said Ronnie, unable to hide her surprise. "Why a _horse?"_

"Why _not_ a horse?"

"What about me?" said Colin eagerly. "What would I be?"

Ronnie looked at the little boy, who was nearly bouncing up and down in his chair with excitement. "Squirrel," she said. "Definitely a squirrel."

Colin frowned slightly. "But I don't even _like_ nuts!"

"What d'you think you'd be, Ronnie?" said Harry.

"I dunno," Ronnie had to admit, thinking about all the animals she loved. There were so many of them, how could she pick just one that would be her? A cat, like Professor McGonagall? Hmmm... maybe a phoenix... She thought of Fawkes, Dumbledore's beautiful pet.

No. Whatever animal her inner self was, it wasn't a phoenix. Probably something far less impressive, like a weasel or something. _Weasel..._ _ **Weasley**_ _. Hmmmm..._

Before she could decide upon an answer, Hermione spoke up, with more than a trace of sarcasm in her voice: _"Fascinating_ as this discussion is, it's not very productive."

"What d'you mean?" said Ginny.

"I mean that I've read about Animagi —" (of course she had, Ronnie thought, she was _Hermione_ ) "— and it's not at all plausible that any of us could learn how to become Animagi in anything less than three years. Probably longer, as we don't have the basic experience with the necessary kinds of magic yet; we don't even _begin_ to learn about Animagi until third year —"

"So even if we could, it'd take us at least until fifth or sixth year," said Harry. "Judging by what Dobby was saying, I doubt we have that long."

"Besides," said Hermione, "if we wanted to become Animagi, we'd have to register at the Ministry. Unregistered Animagi get sent to Azkaban, I don't remember for how long, but it's a good long while."

"Why? What's so bad about turning into an animal?" said Ginny.

"Because, the law reasons, anyone who can turn into an animal and doesn't want the authorities to know about it is probably a criminal wanting a way to hide. So they want to know exactly what kind of animal you can turn into, and what it looks like." Hermione looked a little smug, Ronnie noted; she always did enjoy it when she knew more about some aspect about wizarding culture than even those who were born into it. "Anyway, we don't even know if one of us _would_ turn into a cat. Even if Ronnie's guesses are completely off, we could potentially turn into anything."

"But," said Colin. "If it's about your inner self, maybe we could make ourselves more cat-like! If we all started drinking lots of milk and eating lots of fish —"

"And playing with balls of yarn in the Gryffindor common room?" said Ronnie. "I swear, Colin, sometimes I wonder just what it looks like inside that head of yours."

"Well, right now I'm thinking about Professor McGonagall playing with a ball of yarn in the Gryffindor common room," said Colin, a little sheepishly. "Sorry, you kind of forced the thought in there."

"That's the most ridiculous —" Ronnie paused as the image filled her head, and she groaned. "Now _I'm_ thinking about it too."

Harry laughed.

And that was the end of the Animagus talk. They all settled down to continue reading, though Ronnie's book wasn't really being much help. Really, the way it was going on about things it should have been titled _Here's Why Wanting To Talk To Animals Is A Waste Of Time._

But there _was_ a spell, there _had_ to be. She was certain Charlie had once alluded to it, during one of his holidays home at the Burrow, saying something about a bloke who could talk to animals... But Charlie had always been a great advocate for the concept of "letting you discover things for yourself." At most, he'd make hints and then perhaps lend you one of his books, and then he wouldn't say anything more. To be fair, if you took the bait (as Ronnie sometimes did and sometimes didn't) this often led to you finding out all sorts of things that you wouldn't have otherwise. Like for examples what Thestrals were and why most people couldn't see them. Or the fact that there did exist some types of magic that let you talk to the animals. There was just a matter of _finding_ it...

_"I found it!"_

Everyone turned to look at Ginny, who was holding up her book in triumph. _"Animaloqui!_ Also known as the Animal Talk Charm! Anyone under this charm will speak the language of any one animal of your choice — oh." Her face fell a little.

"What?" Harry stretched his neck to look at the book.

"Well, the animal has to be there physically for it to work..."

"Not a problem," said Ronnie.

"And," Ginny continued, "once you're under the charm you can _only_ speak the language of that animal. You can't talk any other animals, or humans. And you can't do much magic, since you won't be able to speak the incantations properly."

"... _That_ might be a problem," Ronnie admitted.

"Yeah, it seems it's mostly used as a practical joke," said Ginny. "You know... place your friends under the charm, and listen to them meow or bark instead of talking. Until they convince the dog whose language they now speak to bite you, anyway," she added as an afterthought.

"I don't think the teachers would like it if we all started meowing in class," said Harry. "We'd fail every subject. Unless there's a spell you can cast by saying _'meow meow.'"_

"Yeah, like _Aloho-meow-ra,"_ said Ronnie. "Or _Wingardium Levi-meow-sa."_

Neville, Ginny and Colin snorted, but Hermione rolled her eyes.

"If you are _quite_ finished acting like clowns," she said, "the solution is _obvious_. All we need is for someone else to stand ready with a counter-charm. It just so happens that we'll be learning the General Counter-Spell in Charms just after Christmas; that should take care of the problem."

"And you already know it, don't you?" said Colin, whose faith in Hermione was starting to rival his faith in Harry.

Now, Hermione did smile. "What do you think? _Finite Incantatem."_

"All right," said Harry. "Looks like we have a new project, then: Learn the Animal Talk Charm, hopefully before Christmas. The first one to learn it can talk to Crookshanks and find out what Dobby told him."

"Sounds like a plan," Ronnie agreed, deciding then and there that _she_ would be the first, even if she had to compete with Hermione's dedication.

"Let's just hope that no more of those awful things he talked about happen in the meantime," said Neville. "It seems like it's going to be a long time before we find anything out. Anything could happen in the meantime."

"Nothing _has_ happened since Halloween," Ginny pointed out. "Unless you count Dobby's Bludger, but we know what that was about."

"That doesn't mean nothing _will_ happen."

Harry raised himself from the table. "Well," he said. "I think we'll just have to risk it, be extra careful. In the meantime..." He began moving towards the exit. "Quidditch practice."

"I thought they weren't done testing the equipment yet," said Hermione.

"They aren't, they've only tested about half of it," said Harry. "But Wood managed to talk McGonagall into letting us practice with the equipment that has been tested and cleared. He insists that we have to flatten Slytherin in the re-match."

"I'm so glad to know you have your priorities straight," Hermione muttered.

 

* * *

 

"Welcome to Gryffindor versus Slytherin, take two!" Lee Jordan's voice boomed out over the Quidditch pitch, as once again, the two teams came out onto the pitch, to huge applause and dressed in their characteristic respective red and green. "For those of you who weren't here last time, this is the re-match for the first big game of the season, which was called off due to sabotage! I'm not saying it was the Slytherins who enchanted that Bludger to try to kill Harry —"

"Jordan...!" came the amplified and warning tones of Professor McGonagall.

"— but it probably was the Slytherins," Lee continued.

 _"Jordan!_ Are you commenting a game or putting Slytherin on trial?!"

There was a roar of laughter, combined with a lot of boos and jeers from the Slytherin stands. Seated in the top row of the Gryffindor stands, in between Neville and Ginny and wrapped up in her warmest winter cloak and Gryffindor scarf, Ronnie felt an unexpected pang of guilt. She was no fan of Slytherin, and probably would have joined in on laughing or booing if she hadn't known what she knew — but it did seem, well, _wrong_ , that they were given the blame for something she knew for a fact they didn't do.

 _But,_ she comforted herself, _they are Slytherins. They probably get away with worse things all the time._

Over at the commentator's stand, a chastened but not subdued Lee continued: "The score, from last game, is thirty-nil to Slytherin, which of course is totally fair, not like the game last time was rigged against Gryffindor or anything — right, Professor, sorry."

("Don't you wish all we had to worry about was rigged Quidditch matches?" Neville muttered.)

After the Quidditch captains had once again shaken hands (looking no less hostile this time than last time), and after Madam Hooch once again had informed them she wanted a clean game, the whistle sounded, and the teams were off and up into the air again.

"The Quaffle is grabbed by Slytherin Chaser Adrian Pucey, but Gryffindor Chaser Alicia Spinnet is on him — Flint's coming around, nice attempt at a pass — Great show of teamwork by Gryffindor here! George Weasley, I think it was George, anyway, might have been Fred, but he hit the Bludger towards Flint just as he was about to pass! Alicia's snatched the Quaffle! She's speeding towards the Slytherin goal — NO! Goal blocked by Keeper Bletchley! Oh, well, still early in the game, and the Bludgers are behaving normally today, and the Quaffle is back in play..." Lee was getting more worked up and was soon talking away in his traditional rapid-fire (and just _slightly_ Gryffindor-biased) way, accompanied by alternating cheers and boos from the stands as the game continued.

Ronnie had borrowed Hagrid's binoculars and was mostly keeping an eye on Harry. No crazy Bludger was after him this time, though an annoying Malfoy kept flying rather close to him, flying around him with what looked like a taunting sneer.

"What's Malfoy up to?" said Neville from beside Ronnie.

"Taunting," said Ronnie. "He's saying something to Harry — can't make out what — oh, come _on!"_

This last part was in response to the Slytherin boy moving around on his broom as if trying to dodge an invisible Bludger, clearly trying to parody what Harry had looked like when chased by the rogue Bludger. There was a bit of laughter at this from the Slytherin stands.

Lee's voice sounded: "And the Slytherin Seeker seems to be under the false impression that he's demonstrating bad trick riding instead of being in a Quidditch game. That Draco Malfoy is wasted on Quidditch, he should really look into becoming a clown instead."

"Jordan, if you can't stop with the personal remarks —"

"Right, right, sorry, Katie Bell has the Quaffle, and — _YES! SHE SCORES!"_

To Lee's credit, he really did stick to commenting about the game from there on, and it developed into quite an intense battle between the two teams. The Gryffindors were determined to catch up to Slytherin's "head start," and the Slytherins did all they could to keep their lead. The Quaffle zoomed back and forth through the air, alternately thrown and carried by six determined Chasers, as the Beaters hit the Bludgers here and there.

There were no further goals scored. Both Oliver Wood and the Slytherin Keeper, Miles Bletchley, were defending their hoops like angry dragons, and it didn't look like any of them were going to let in a goal any time soon.

Above it all flew Harry and Malfoy, peering for the Snitch. That is, _Harry_ was peering for the Snitch. Malfoy spent half his time looking for the Snitch and the other half pestering Harry. Probably he was hoping to get Harry to lose his temper and make a mistake.

For all that Ronnie loathed Malfoy, she had to admit that he was good at flying, especially now that he had the right grip on the broom. He manoeuvred himself with the greatest of ease, flying back and forth and looking like he was born to fly... at least, Ronnie had to admit to herself (though she'd be buggered if she admitted it to anyone else!) he flew better than her. Even if it could partly be credited to his amazing Nimbus Two-Thousand-And-One, he really did know what he was doing up in the air. He'd probably have been the best flier on the pitch, if it hadn't been for Harry.

Because where Malfoy was good, Harry was _amazing_. With him as a rider, even the lousiest, most stubborn broom turned into a model broomstick on-par with Nimbus's best. Even on a sub-par broom he could more than keep up with the annoying Slytherin seeker.

Which was probably one of Malfoy's motivations in trying to annoy or distract Harry. _Jealous, I reckon!_ Ronnie thought with some satisfaction. _Probably always thought he'd be the top flier at Hogwarts, and then Harry comes and absolutely flattens him without even trying!_

"Harry's really good, isn't he?" said Ginny next to her. Not surprisingly, she had spent the entire game so far with her eyes on Harry.

"Maybe you could ask him for some private flying lessons," said Ronnie, grinning at her.

Ginny turned red and shoved her, a little harder than necessary. "Shut up!"

"Seriously, Ginny. Why don't you just _tell_ him you like him?" Ronnie stroked back her hair and tried to keep the vague exasperation out of her voice as much as she could. "You've been able to talk around him for months, you hardly ever squeak anymore, and come on, he's not stupid, he already _knows."_

"And he doesn't like me," said Ginny, looking down. "Not that way."

"You don't know that!" Ronnie put on a dramatic voice. "Maybe he dreams about you every night, visions of your lovely red hair and your enchanting smile intoxicating him, and when he looks at you his heart bursts in his chest, and — _ow!_ Quit that!"

"Serves you right."

Ronnie rubbed the arm Ginny had punched. For a brief moment she considered punching her younger sister back, but then she thought better of it and instead decided to focus on Harry instead —

— just in time to see the flash of gold just behind Malfoy. The Snitch had decided to pause and hover not too far behind the Slytherin Seeker, and Malfoy was too busy taunting Harry to see it!

Harry saw it, though, and for a moment he just hovered, clearly afraid that any sudden moves would alert Malfoy to the presence of the little golden ball. Then he appeared to make his mind up, and like a streak of lightning he shot past Malfoy and towards the Snitch.

Malfoy discovered what he was doing perhaps a millisecond before Harry zoomed past him, and desperately turned his broom around to dart after Harry.

As if in slow motion, Ronnie saw the two Seekers race at the Snitch, both stretching out their hands to grab for it. The Snitch was just about to dart away and vanish again, when Malfoy threw himself after it, but because Harry was in the way missed it and instead of making the spectacular grab he'd clearly hoped for, lost his balance and fell off his broom.

There was a gasp of shock from the stands, and a sharp yelp of terror from a couple of the Slytherin girls, as Malfoy fell to the ground.

But then the gasps turned to cheers, because before he had fallen more than a few feet, he was stopped in his fall by Harry, who had grabbed the back of his robes with one hand. In the other hand, he held the shining Golden Snitch.

Lee went wild from the commentator's stand: "Harry Potter has caught the Snitch, and the Slytherin Seeker! Gryffindor wins! One hundred and sixty points to Slytherin's thirty! _GRYFFINDOR WINS!"_

Ronnie and the rest of Potter's Gang cheered along with the rest of the crowd as Harry triumphantly sank down to the ground, Snitch in one hand and an absolutely furious Malfoy in the other.

Ginny raised herself from her seat, and Ronnie followed her, together with Neville, Hermione and Colin, to storm down and onto the Quidditch pitch to be the first to greet Harry and congratulate him on winning his first Quidditch match.

They arrived just in time for the two boys to land.

Malfoy hit the ground first, yanking himself out of Harry's grasp and snarling up at him: "Are you trying to humiliate me, Potter?!"

"I don't need to," said Harry as he landed himself, swinging off his broomstick. "You're too good at humiliating yourself. _You're welcome,_ by the way."

"I — I didn't need your help!" Malfoy's pale face was a little less pale than usual.

"Well, next time he'll just let you fall and break your neck, shall he?" Ronnie snapped at him. (She was aware that she was probably exaggerating a little; Hundreds of Quidditch players had fallen down onto that pitch over the years and none of them had ever suffered any worse than a broken wrist or a sprained ankle — but Malfoy's ingratitude was enough to make anyone lose their patience.)

"Sod off, Beanstalk!" Malfoy snarled back. "Should have known Potter would just hide behind his _girlfriend_ instead of —" But this was all he had time to say, because now he was pushed aside by the rest of the Gryffindor team and other Gryffindors, and everything drowned in cheers and congratulations, and Wood looked so happy he was close to tears, and Ronnie and the others ran from the stands to congratulate Harry on winning his first Quidditch match, and even Ginny forgot her shyness for a moment and gave him a victory hug...

From the corner of her eye, Ronnie saw Malfoy being pulled off by a rather livid Marcus Flint, who no doubt had a few choice things to say to Seekers who missed the appearance of the Snitch because they were too busy taunting their opponent.

It was hard not to feel a _little_ gleeful at that.

 

* * *

 

And with the first Quidditch match of the season out of the way, Potter's Gang could turn their attentions back to the mystery at hand, and of course to the task of mastering the Animal Talk Charm. Which proved to be rather more difficult than it sounded, as this was a surprisingly advanced charm, of the kind they might learn in their third or even fourth year. Even Hermione wasn't getting it straight away.

And so days passed, frustratingly turning into weeks, as they tried to get enough time in between their studies to get in the Animal Talk Charm. Now that they were second-years, the magic they learned was a little more advanced, but the Animal Talk Charm was clearly more complex than they were used to - at the moment, the most advanced magic that they learned in Charms were Fire-Making Charms and Freezing Charms.

Pretty basic stuff, even if it _was_ cool when Harry managed to shoot a jet of flames out of his wand and almost since Professor Flitwick's hair.

It didn't help with the Animal Talk charm, though, and after two weeks of constant trial and error, Ronnie was about to tear her hear out in frustration. Crookshanks, thankfully, was very cooperative; he seemed to be as eager to talk to her as she was to him. But the charm just wasn't coming along. Ronnie might have blamed her second-hand wand, which was old and worn and even had its unicorn hair poke out of the tip (she loved Charlie, but she hated inheriting his things; he was notoriously careless with them), but even Hermione with her superior wand and superior knowledge seemed to be struggling.

Finally, Ronnie was so fed up that Ginny suggested to try another route. 

Moaning Myrtle's bathroom had always been on Ronnie's Top Five list for Least Favourite Places at Hogwarts, only narrowly beaten by the Potions classroom during one of Snape's lessons. In this, most other girls at Hogwarts agreed — for decades now, Myrtle had been making this particular bathroom the most dreaded one in the school, a bathroom no sane girl would ever use unless she was in a really desperate need, because trying to go to the loo with that obnoxiously self-pitying howl in your ears was just _awful_.  

And after the Petrification of the other ghosts, the bathroom had got even worse and was now listed as _'permanently out of order.'_ Pretty much everyone had given up trying to even go near the damn place, because Myrtle would begin howling and flood her toilet the moment someone entered.

Still, needs must. And so, one afternoon while the boys were working on their Transfiguration essays, Ginny had managed to talk Ronnie and Hermione into joining her in a little excursion to The Dreaded Bathroom.  

"I doubt this is going to do much good," said Hermione as they approached the bathroom. "You don't know Myrtle like we do, Ginny. If she has decided not to talk, then nobody can make her. If even Professor Dumbledore couldn't get her to talk, what chance do _we_ have?"

"Oh, you're much too fond of saying something can't be done," said Ginny reproachfully. 

"I'm just trying to be realistic."

"A _quitter_ , you mean."

"It's worth a try," said Ronnie, stepping up to the bathroom door and reaching for the doorhandle.  "C'mon, maybe she's in a good mood... or at least a better mood. Even Myrtle couldn't keep a tantrum going for _weeks_ —"

 _"OH, SHE COULDN'T, COULD SHE?!"_ The door flew open before Ronnie could so much as touch the handle, and the pale, silvery-white form of Moaning Myrtle was hovering in front of them. She looked even more haggard and upset than normal; her round spectacles skewed on her nose and her cheeks streaky with ghost-tears. 

"Er — hi, Myrtle!" Ronnie heard how her voice had turned into an embarrassing squeak. "Good to see you — er — up and about —"

"Come to _laugh_ at me, have you?!" Myrtle screeched, swooping around the three girls. "Come to _gloat_ at poor Myrtle in her misery! Don't lie, I know you have!" 

"Of course not!" said Hermione, and glanced at Ginny with a vague hint of  _'I-told-you-so'_   in her eyes. "We just wanted to talk to you!" 

"Nobody wants to talk to me!" Myrtle howled.

 _"We_ do!" said Ginny, smiling her most charming smile — the same kind of smile that Ronnie never quite managed but Ginny had mastered since she was three years old and wanted to throw off Mum's suspicions over things like the breaking of a favourite dinner plate or the vanishing of a bowl of cream from the kitchen. "We just thought, you're the only ghost left at Hogwarts, and that must be _awfully_ lonely for you."

Myrtle sniffed, but her voice was notably softer when she answered: "The other ghosts didn't like me either. Nobody ever liked me, not when I was alive and not when I'm dead." She crossed her arms and glowered. "And now, suddenly everyone wants to be _so_ friendly with me. As if I couldn't see right through them! _Plee-e-ease, Myrtle!"_ she mocked, twisting her face into the most unconvincing smile Ronnie had ever seen and turning her voice sugary sweet. _"Dear, sweet, kind Myrtle, we just want to ta-a-alk! We're just wo-o-oorried about you! You must be so lonely, and we just want to interrogate you a ti-i-iny little bit! Be a good girl, Myrtle, and tell us about the Petrifica-a-ations!"_

"We didn't  —" Ginny began.

But Myrtle was working herself back up to a frenzy. _"You must_ _know something about it, Myrtle!"_   she sneered. _"Tell us, Myrtle! We're such good friends, aren't we?_ _! That's why we only come to talk to you when we wa-a-ant something from you!_ It's just like last time! Everyone wanted to talk, everyone wanted to pry! Nobody ever cared about _me_ , and how _I_ felt. No, they were just interested in what I could tell them! Well, I _don't_ know anything about those stupid Petrifications, and I don't _care!_ So why don't you just —"

"We just wanted to ask you how long you've been haunting this bathroom!" said Ginny. 

"Oh." Myrtle stopped mid-mocking rant. She actually looked vaguely flattered at the question, peering at Ginny with something that might, in the right light, pass for friendliness. "I don't know. Forty years? Fifty years? Time doesn't really have much meaning for me anymore..." she sighed dramatically. "What year is it, anyway?"

Ronnie, Hermione and Ginny exchanged glances. "It's 1992," said Hermione. "It was Nearly Headless's Nick's five hundredth deathday, you remember, you were at his party..."

"Oh. Right. That means it'll be fifty years exactly, next June..." Myrtle's expression turned sour. _"Some_ ghosts get big parties. Next year, it's going to be _my_ fiftieth deathday, and d'you think anyone's going to remember? Or care? Hah! The only reason I was even at Nick's stupid party was because everyone else was going! Nobody wanted me there! The only one who even talked to me was Peeves, and _he_ only wanted to be nasty!" 

"We're very sorry, Myrtle," said Ginny, and managed to look like she genuinely meant it. "What did he say?"

"Oh, he said such _awful_ things," said Myrtle. "I don't even want to _repeat_  them! Pah, he's not even a _real_ ghost, and he's mean to everybody, and _he_ gets to stay in the dungeon with the others!" Her voice turned to a growl. "And now they're all having the time of their deaths down there, all Petrified and solid and _all together!_ Everyone's there, but not Myrtle! No! Why'd anyone want fat old Myrtle to make things worse?!"

"I'm pretty sure they're not having any fun  —" Ronnie began, but was cut off as Ginny elbowed her in the ribs.

"The nerve of them!" said Ginny, mimicking Myrtle's tone.

"Excactly!" said Myrtle hotly. Then she narrowed her eyes and looked suspiciously at Ginny. "Are you making _fun_ of me?"

"I would never!" Ginny hurried to say. "I was just saying that people should be more considerate of you!"

"They _should,"_ Myrtle agreed, though the suspicious look didn't quite fade. 

"Right!" said Ginny. "So I was thinking, wouldn't it just show them how terrible they've been to you, if _you_ were the one who solved the mystery of the Petrifications? I bet they'd all be _very_ sorry then."

"They would, wouldn't they..." Myrtle murmured. But then, all of a sudden, she jerked and rose a little higher up in the air with a look of utter fury on her face. "Why, you... _you BITCH!"_ she screeched, moving forward to yell in Ginny's face. _"YOU MANIPULATIVE LITTLE BITCH!_ Trying to trick me, are you? Pour on the fake sympathy, and fool stupid Myrtle into doing anything you want! _IS THAT IT?!"_

"Don't you talk to my sister that way!" Ronnie snapped.

Myrtle screamed in rage and then flew straight through Ronnie. And Ronnie couldn't help but let out a loud yelp at the sudden icy sensation of having the ghost pass through her; it was almost exactly like being hit with a bucket of ice water. It wasn't an unfamiliar sensation; though the Hogwarts ghosts were usually considerate enough to at least try to avoid going through the students accidents did happen  — and right now Myrtle was much too angry to be considerate. Similar high-pitched squeals from Ginny and Hermione revealed that she'd just flown straight through them as well.

 _"GO AWAY!"_ she screamed, swooping around in the air and turning to fly straight through them again. _"GO AWAY, GO AWAAAAAAY!"_

"We're going, we're going!" Hermione took the lead. She grabbed both Ginny and Ronnie by the hands and began dragging them off down the corridor. They quickly began to run with her; Even Ginny didn't argue after the unpleasant icy situation of Myrtle.  
  
_"If you ever talk to me again,"_ Myrtle screamed after them, _"I'll drench you so hard with toilet water that you won't dry out for a week!"_

"I think," Ginny panted as she ran, "that we're better off with the Animal Talk Charm anyway!"

"I told you," said Hermione.

 

* * *

 

November was coming to an end, and the weather was getting chilly, with the promise of snow to come pretty soon. Already it was getting so that walking through the corridors to class was a cold affair, especially in the mornings. It was a time for winter cloaks, woolen stockings, thick underwear, and desperate wishes that someone would invent some kind of spell or charm to make clothes warmer without risking setting them on fire.

Luckily, some of the rooms weren't so cold. The Gryffindor common room was as nice and toasty as ever, and the fires in the fireplaces were never allowed to die down. A few of the classrooms had fires as well, and generally the temperature was at least all right during lessons, even if the teachers did advise the students to dress warmly.

Surprisingly, even the Potions classroom had a fire going these days - back in the days of Snape it had always been cold, and students had often speculated on why Snape was so opposed to warmth; theories had ranged from _"it's to keep the potion ingredients fresh"_ to _"he just likes to torture us during winter."_ But these days, the temperature was actually tolerable. Nicolas Flamel, who had on occasion been heard complaining loudly about the British weather, had apparently insisted that his classroom at least be warm enough for him to speak without his teeth chattering. This made Potions a lot less cold and more bearable than in the old days, and Flamel's popularity with the students rose considerably for it.

Only Draco Malfoy still scowled at Flamel; he'd been in a foul mood ever since his loss at the Quidditch match, and he hadn't forgotten Flamel's speech about the Muggles being more important than wizards, which he still hadn't managed to disprove to Flamel's satisfaction.

Ronnie was still certain that he had _something_ to do with the Petrifications, and if not him then definitely his family did.

There hadn't been any progress when it came to finding alternate ways of reviving the Petrified Lavender or the ghosts. The Mandrakes were maturing slowly, and it had proved almost impossible to get already-matured Mandrakes from elsewhere.

Though at least Neville's gloomier predictions didn't seem to be coming to fruition any time soon; there were no more Petrifications and Dobby remained absent. (Hopefully he hadn't got into too much trouble with the Malfoys; with any luck they hadn't even noticed that he'd been gone.)

But Ronnie was certain the time of peace wouldn't last. She still had no idea what it was Dobby had been alluding to that was worse than the Petrifications, but the way he had been talking it was probably just a matter of time before they happened.

Which was why — or at least _one_ of the reasons why — she, one day late in November, found herself in an empty (and thankfully not too cold) classroom together with Crookshanks.

"Okay," she said, looking down at her cat and holding up her wand to point at herself. "Let's try again. Wand ready, movements clear, eye contact... swipe and point, and... _Animaloqui!"_

Her heart leapt as for the first time she could swear there was a brief shimmer in the air, and the tip of her wand briefly lit up in a bright purple colour before it faded. This time — _this_ time, it must have worked. She didn't feel any different, but something must have happened, right?

She took a deep breath, opening and closing her eyes. "All right, Crookshanks," she said. Her voice sounded like normal too, but maybe when you were under the Charm, cat language sounded like English. "Say something."

"Mrrrrow," said Crookshanks conversationally.

Just one of his normal, chatty meows, completely devoid of any meaning that Ronnie could work out.

She sighed and lowered her wand in disappointment. "Didn't work." The fifth time in a row, and she still couldn't get this damn charm right. "This is bloody hard. But we're not giving up, are we, Crookshanks? Maybe if I make the swipe a little more arched..."

Before she could try this, though, the door opened and Harry peeked in.

"There you are," he said. "I was looking for you. Not as easy to locate someone on the Marauder's Map as you'd think." He closed the door behind himself and stepped closer. "What are you doing here, all alone in an empty classroom?"

"I'm not alone," said Ronnie, motioning to Crookshanks, who was peering curiously at Harry. "But since you ask: Hermione's in the library, of course, Neville went to the greenhouses with Professor Sprout to look at some interesting plants, Ginny and Colin are doing homework, and you were off with the others at Quidditch practice. So I thought I'd get some practice time in on talking to the animals."

"And you didn't ask Hermione along so she'd be here to cast the Counter-Spell?" said Harry. "You realise that if you did manage to put yourself under the Animal Talk Charm, you'd be going around meowing until someone could counter the charm, right?"

"Yeah, but..." Ronnie looked down and comforted herself a little by scratching Crookshanks behind the ears. "It's silly, but... I want to do it alone. Or at least I don't want Hermione to be around."

"What?" Harry's green eyes widened behind his glasses. "Why not? You two aren't fighting or anything, are you?"

"No! Nothing like that!" Ronnie felt herself go pink again. "It's just — c'mon, Harry, we _know_ Hermione would learn the Charm long before I do. Surprised she hasn't already, in fact..." She let her voice trail off, not really wanting to say the rest.

But Harry understood. "And _you_ want to be the first to get it."

Ronnie nodded, painfully aware that she was still blushing. "Animals is _my_ thing! Just like flying is yours, and plants is Neville's, and asking weird questions is Colin's, and being the best at everything else is Hermione's..."

"She's not the best at _everything_ , you know," said Harry.

"I know, but she's good at so many things, I just wanted... and Crookshanks is _my_ cat..." Ronnie sighed. "Never mind. Why were you looking for me?"

Harry motioned for her to sit down by one of the desks, before he took a seat next to her (and Crookshanks jumped up onto the desk to be scratched some more).

"Well, two things, really," he said. "I don't really know which to begin with... Oh, here." He rummaged in his pocket and and pulled out a folded-up piece of paper — not parchment — and held it out for her to take.

Ronnie reluctantly stopped petting Crookshanks to grab the paper and folded it out. At once, she saw a handwriting she recognised. "Oh," she said. "You got another letter from that Lupin bloke!"

Harry nodded, and to Crookshanks's obvious satisfaction, took over her cat-petting duties while her hands were occupied. "Read it."

 

 _Dear Harry,_ (she read)

_Once again, thank you for your letter, and of course I'm happy to send you the picture you asked for. I've found a picture of the four of us from the Summer of 1975, just before our sixth year at Hogwarts. (You can probably guess which one of us is James. I'm the one with the pale face and the light brown hair.)_

_We were all staying at James's house for a few days and, as I recall, making all sorts of plans for the upcoming school year. Some of those plans, of course, never became reality, while others did._

_One of our more bizarre plans, or at least I think of it as bizarre now, did end up becoming reality. This was our attempt at mapping the entirety of Hogwarts and its grounds. A hopeless task, you might think, with all the secret passages and hidden rooms around the school, but we were quite good at exploring and were certain that we could manage to locate, if not all the hidden rooms and corridors then at least the vast majority of them. The biggest problem we faced was the tendency of many rooms, stairways and corridors to shift and change locations; any map of these areas would quickly become useless because the rooms would have changed places before long._

_It was James who found the solution; to create a map that changed along with the school and kept track of everything that moved. This also had the added bonus, or possibly the added complication, of keeping track of all the people of the castle._

_With all the effort we put in to the finished map, I like to think that it ended up as one of the most accurate maps ever to depict Hogwarts. Sadly, it was confiscated by the caretaker, Mr. Filch (is he still at school, by the way?), in our seventh year and has probably long since been destroyed._

 

She looked up from the letter, blinking. "A map that keeps track of everything that moves in the school?! And was confiscated?! _Bloody hell,_ Harry! That's —"

"— The Marauder's Map," Harry nodded, pulling the Map out of his pocket as well. "It has to be. Lupin was wrong. Filch didn't destroy it, he just locked it up. And years later, Fred and George got their hands on it."

Ronnie looked at the currently-blank parchment in Harry's hand with a renewed sense of awe. "So your Dad made that Map."

"And the Marauders," said Harry, "were my Dad and his friends. Hagrid told me that they were a gang, like us, and they had a name for themselves. He couldn't remember what the name was, except that it was a funny word that started with an M. _Marauders!"_

"And Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs must've been their nicknames," said Ronnie, gulping. "But Harry, that means _Wormtail_ must be —"

"—Sirius Black!" said Harry. "Has to be him. He and Lupin are the only ones left alive, and if it was Lupin, he'd have stopped by to say hello, wouldn't he? We were already writing to each other!"

"But," Ronnie protested. Something wasn't quite right. "Black's in Azkaban, for life. And nobody's ever escaped from Azkaban. Bet you anything that if they had, it'd be all over the news."

"Do we _know_ he's in Azkaban?" said Harry. "Maybe he managed to trick his way out of it somehow and has been hiding for all these years!"

"And started buggering Lockhart?" Ronnie made a grimace. "Think I'd prefer Azkaban to that." She bit her lip and thought about it for a few moments. "I dunno, Harry, there's something we're not seeing here. And I still say Malfoy's involved somehow. There's something missing, some detail that'd make sense of all of this...!" But then a thought struck her. "Look, you have the picture, right? Can I see it?"

Harry fished yet another thing up from his pocket to hand to her — this time it was a photograph. The colours of it had faded slightly, but it was clearly depicting four smiling, laughing teenage boys, all standing next to one another.

It was easy enough to see which one was James Potter. He looked almost exactly like an older Harry; his hair was a little longer and messier, and every so often he'd run his hand over it to rumple it up more, as if he was afraid he'd look too neat and tidy.

The boy with the pale face and the light brown hair, then, had to be Lupin; he looked a little tired for some reason, but his smile was just as wide as the others', and his eyes twinkled with the same mischief.

The two other boys — well, one was tall, dark-haired and good-looking, and seemed like he couldn't stand still for more than a few seconds at the time, and the other one... there was absolutely no doubt of it. He was a good deal younger and much more cheerful than the thin-haired and twitchy man she'd seen in Lockhart's office, but that small and chubby frame was much the same. He was certainly the goofiest-looking of the boys, and kept casting admiring glances at them all.

"Yeah," she said. "That's Wormtail, all right."

"I knew it!"

"Hold on. Something's not right." Ronnie frowned. Okay, both Sirius Black and Wormtail was in this picture. That much was clear. But were Sirius Black and Wormtail the same person? _Could_ Wormtail, in fact, be Remus Lupin, who had lied about his appearance? They hadn't actually seen Lupin before. Ronnie had no idea why he'd lie about what he looked like, or why he'd come and shag Lockhart, but people did weird things some times. Or, maybe it could be that... No. Peter was dead. She knew Peter was dead. But hadn't Neville thought he'd seen someone who might have been named Peter on the Marauder's Map?

It didn't add up. She had to find out.

Clearing her throat in as authoritive a way as she could, she poked the picture with a firm finger. "Oy," she said. "Which one of you is Sirius Black?"

The boys in the picture all looked up at her. Then, with frantic movements and mischievous grins, they all began pointing at themselves, mouthing _"Me! Me!"_ They nudged and bumped against one another, and a cheerful argument about which one of them was Sirius Black seemed to be breaking out.

"And," said Ronnie, feeling her heart sink a little, "which one's Wormtail?"

All the boys began pointing at each other and mouthing _"Him! Him!" —_ and looked like they were about to die laughing when Ronnie groaned.

"And which one," she said, not even bothering to keep the tone of annoyance out of her voice. "is just wasting her bloody time with this?"

As one, the boys all pointed towards Ronnie and mouthed _"You! You!"_

She thrust the picture back at Harry, who to his credit didn't share in the Marauders' silent laughter.

"Doesn't seem like they took anything very seriously, does it?" he commented.

"All right," she said, clenching her fists and unclenching them again. "There's more than one way to find out! Let's go show the picture to someone who knew them — Hagrid, let's show it to Hagrid! _He_ can say which one's Sirius Black!"

"I still say Wormtail and Black is the same person," said Harry. "But showing the picture to Hagrid isn't a bad idea, let's do that. He's always talking about how much he liked my father and his friends; if anyone can tell us which is which here, it'll be him." He slid the picture back into his pocket and grew solemn. "Ronnie, if it _is_ Sirius Black hiding out at Hogwarts, and he's an escaped murderer, then we _have_ to tell Dumbledore."

"I know," said Ronnie. Then, she remembered something. "What was the other thing, by the way?"

"What?"

"You said there were two things you wanted to talk to me about. What was the other thing?"

"Oh, yeah." Harry grimaced. "You know, never mind about that other thing right now. I'll tell you about it later."

Ronnie frowned. In her experience, whenever someone said they would tell you something later, they ended up never telling you at all. But, she thought, if it was something important, he'd probably have told her already. So in the end, she just sighed and said: "All right, but I'm gonna hold you to that, so don't you go hoping I'll forget!"

She looked over at Crookshanks, who had been sitting on the desk the entire time and watching them with the traditional curious interest of cats everywhere. "And you help me remind him if necessary, okay?"

"Meow, meow."

"Thank you."

Despite himself, Harry laughed. "Almost think you'd mastered that charm already."

"Oh, he understands what we're saying, don't you, Crookshanks?" Ronnie said, stroking her cat fondly and being rewarded with a loud, rumbling purr. "He's ruddy smart. Sometimes I almost understand what he's trying to say too, but we're not at storytelling levels yet. I need the Charm for that."

"You'll get it," said Harry encouragingly. "In the meantime, want to come with me to Hagrid's? He's usually home at this time of day."

 

 

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, so I wrote another Quidditch scene. Without any rogue Bludgers at that. Don't get too used to them, though.
> 
> "Animaloqui" is my invention. I'm usually very careful about inventing new spells for Harry Potter fics; usually I will only do it if:
> 
> 1: There is a legitimate reason for the spell to be in the story, and for the characters to learn/use it.  
> 2: It's not a Deus Ex Machina that solves everything.  
> 3: I think the spell would fit relatively painlessly in with the canon spells.  
> 4: There isn't a canon spell that would have approximately the same effect.  
> 5: The existence of the new spell doesn't create some kind of plot hole in canon (like, "if there was a spell for safely locating Horcruxes all along, why didn't Dumbledore use it?").  
> 6: Its effects make for fun writing and hopefully fun reading.
> 
> The Animal Talk Charm, I think, fulfils all these criteria. There weren't many canon situations where it would even have come in use (with the possible exception of the Crookshanks/Scabbers situation in Prisoner of Azkaban, but there neither Ron nor Hermione had any reason to want to talk to the cat). It'll be useful, but could also potentially be a problem, which should lessen its Deus Ex Machina potential. And I've had commenters wanting to see Crookshanks talk, so hopefully there'll be enough fun.
> 
> There were almost two non-canon spells in this chapter; at first I referred a Warming Charm in the segments about the cold corridor... But then I read up and checked the canon... And it seems like the Warming Charm doesn't actually exist in canon. There's a Hot-Air Charm and some fire spells, but no Warming Charm. I could have included the Warming Charm anyway; I doubt people would comment... But then I thought it'd be funnier if there wasn't a Warming Charm and that segment was about students wishing that one existed instead.
> 
> Otherwise, did you notice the two inside-jokey HP movie references I slipped into the library scene?
> 
> Ronnie's slip-of-the-tongue moment where she wrongly identifies Ravenclaw's mascot as a raven instead of an eagle, is of course a reference to how the movies changed Ravenclaw's symbol into a raven. And Ginny's insistence that she'd be a horse Animagus references the Order of the Phoenix movie, where her Patronus is, yes, a horse.


	13. The Past Repeats Itself — Or Does It?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's this, an update? Why yes, I believe it is! Where on earth have I been?
> 
> Well, I've been right here. But there's been such a lot to do as of late, and so I've been writing on this chapter (along with the next part of Hermione Granger's Guide To Gender-Flip Fanfiction) on and off when I had the time. It wasn't particularly effective, especially since this was yet another of those chapters that needed lots or rewriting before it was anything like decent enough to post.

 

 

"Remus Lupin, eh?" Hagrid mused as he poured out tea for Harry and Ronnie in the customary enormous mugs. "Glad yeh're writin' to him, Harry. Nice bloke, Lupin, but a bit reserved. Doesn't get out much. Never really got over losin' his three bes' friends. Y'know, I really should try ter write him more. Invite 'im over for a chat some time, maybe."

Harry and Ronnie accepted the mugs. They had managed to politely decline the stoat sandwiches Hagrid had offered, saying they had eaten not too long ago, but Hagrid's tea was harmless enough.

Beside Ronnie, Fang the enormous boar-hound was trying to put his head in her lap so that she would scratch behind his ears. (She had wondered a little whether the smell of Crookshanks on her would annoy the dog, but no — he was as affectionate as ever.)

"Anyway, yeh don' have ter worry 'bout Sirius Black," Hagrid continued. "That man's in Azkaban. Nobody ever escaped from that place." He made a slight grimace, as if recalling something unpleasant. "Horrible place, Azkaban — sucks the joy right outta yeh..."

"I know," said Ronnie. "Dad had to go there on Ministry business once. He was all shaky when he got back home. Reckon they make it so horrible just to scare us all into behaving."

"In that case, I don't think it works," said Harry somewhat dryly. "Didn't scare people like Quirrell, or Sirius Black, or Voldemort — sorry," he added when Hagrid winced.

"Would yeh _please_ not say the name?" the huge man begged.

"He says it all the time," said Ronnie. "Him and Hermione, because Hermione keeps lecturing about how fear of You-Know-Who's name only increases the fear of You-Know-Who himself. I barely even notice it anymore, when they say V- Vuh..." The word stuck in her throat.

"Are you all right?" said Harry, eyes concerned behind his glasses.

"Vuh," said Ronnie, trying to force the dreaded name out. "Vuh-voool... _ngh!"_ Her throat seemed like it was going to close up, and her heart pounded in her chest.

It was _stupid_ ; it was just a name. Three syllables, took exactly the same amount of time and effort to say as _'You-Know-Who._ ' Harry never had any problems saying the name; Hermione had easily taught herself to. There was no logical reason why _Ronnie_ shouldn't be able to say it, no reason why the word should scare her so much that it got stuck in her throat and make her feel like she was choking and couldn't breathe...

 _"Woof!"_ said Fang, startling her out of it by pressing his nose against her belly.

Ronnie's hands shook as she began scratching his ears again, trying to get her breath back under control. "I can't say it," she breathed, disappointed at herself. "Just can't. I can _hear_ it just fine, but trying to _say_ it...!"

"Well, yeh got no business goin' around sayin' things like that anyway," said Hagrid gruffly. "Don't worry about it, Ronnie. Have some more tea."

Ronnie gratefully took the mug and swallowed a big gulp, feeling the warmth spread through her body and calming her a little.

 _One day,_ she thought to herself, _one day I'm going to be able to say it. But clearly, that day is not today._

"Anyway, yeh didn' come here to talk about that, now did yeh?" said Hagrid.

"That's right, we didn't," said Harry — and Ronnie thought he'd finally get to taking out the picture of the Marauders to show the huge man, but he surprised her by instead saying: "Hagrid, last Christmas you said that some day you'd tell me the story of what happened with my father's friends."

"What?" Hagrid blinked. "Er... I did?"

"You did, Hagrid."

Hagrid paused. "Yeh got a good memory," he murmured, before adding, just slightly reproachfully: "Bit _too_ good if y'ask me."

Harry looked pleadingly at him. "Please, Hagrid. Can't you tell? We've already found out some of it, but we don't have the details, and — I need to _know..."_

Hagrid didn't answer at first. Meticulously, he poured himself a cup of tea. Without letting go of the tea pot, he fished a small bottle out of his coat and poured a generous amount of a liquid Ronnie didn't want to speculate too much about into his tea. Then, letting the bottle vanish back into his coat, he lifted the steaming mug and drained it all in one enormous gulp.

"All right," he said at last, and without even looking at the now-empty mug or the teapot, he filled the mug back up and drank down almost half of it in another large gulp. "I s'ppose I yeh hafta know sooner or later. An' better _I_ tell yeh than have poor Lupin do it."

Harry and Ronnie leaned forward, listening intently, all thoughts of You-Know-Who and his name momentarily gone. Ronnie stroked Fang's ears almost automatically.

"Keep in mind," said Hagrid. "It's not a happy story. And I can't tell yeh all of it, there's parts I don' really know — but I s'ppose it all started with the Marauders." He lifted the mug to his lips and drank down the rest of his tea. "Thanks fer tellin' me the name, by the way. Bin wonderin' about it, couldn' remember the word for the life of me. Knew it began with an M..."

"You're welcome," said Harry, clearly trying not to look too impatient.

"Yeah. The Marauders," Hagrid repeated. "Back in the day, they were the closes' friends yeh could imagine. Always together, they were. Kinda like you and your friends, Harry. But, even if they were all bes' friends, there was always a special bond between James an' Sirius Black."

"You mean they were gay?" said Ronnie.

"What?" Hagrid blinked. "Er, no. Well, not that they ever tol' me, anyway."

"Why are you so obsessed with gay people?!" said Harry.

"I'm not obsessed," Ronnie protested, feeling herself turn pink. "Occasionally wondering if someone might be gay is not obsessed!"

Hagrid shook his head. "I jus' meant that they were, y'know, really close friends. Like brothers, yeh might say. Reckon Sirius was closer ter James than he was to his _real_ brother." He stroked his beard and looked down at his empty tea mug before continuing: "Really, Sirius never got along with any of his family. Ran off from them in the end, when he was sixteen, I think it was. James's family pretty much took 'im in after that."

 _Like we took Harry in,_ Ronnie thought. She briefly wondered if Harry saw this odd connection between himself and Sirius Black, but it didn't seem the right time to ask.

"I'm going to take a wild guess here and say that Sirius's family weren't nice people," said Harry.

"Yeh could say that," Hagrid agreed, the hint of a growl in his voice. "Nasty folks. Muggle-haters and Pureblood fanatics, an' up ter their necks in the Dark Arts, almos' every las' one of them. Not actually Death Eaters, but they definitely thought You-Know-Who had the right idea. The few of members o' the family who didn' agree were disowned, an' the Blacks pretended they'd never been family at all."

"Charming people," said Ronnie.

"But Sirius," said Hagrid, "he was different from the start. Or at least, we all _thought_ he was. Only Black ever ter be a Gryffindor. Loathed the Dark Arts, didn' mind Muggle-borns. Think his parents never forgave him that."

"But he changed his mind?" said Ronnie, trying to combine the Sirius Black Hagrid was telling her about (troubled kid with a nasty family) with the one who had formed in her head (traitor and murderer). "Family got to him in the end?"

Again, Hagrid stroked his shaggy beard. "Y'know, they might have," he said thoughtfully. "Would make sense. Yeah, maybe he jus' couldn't stand goin' against his family anymore." Then his face darkened. "Course, if it had only been _that_ , if he'd just gone back to his family, broken all ties wit' James an' the rest — that I woulda understood. It woulda been sad, but... But no, what _he_ went ahead an' did..."

"What? What _did_ he _do?"_ Harry demanded.

Hagrid opened his mouth, but then shook his head, looking even more uncomfortable than before. "Dunno if I should be tellin' yeh that part, really," he murmured.

"Hagrid, _please!"_

There was a long silence. Then, Hagrid sighed. "Y'ever hear tell of a charm called the Fidelius?"

"Fidelius?" Harry and Ronnie chorused, and then looked at one another. Ronnie shook her head, and Harry answered for them both: "I don't think so."

"Righ', well, don' ask me how it works," said Hagrid. "Really complicated bit o' magic. Yeh take a secret that yeh don' wan' anyone ter find out and yeh hide it inside a person, who's then called the Secret-Keeper."

Ronnie tried to imagine this. It sounded completely barmy to her. "How? Do they rip the bloke open or make him swallow a note with writing on it, or...?"

"No idea," Hagrid admitted. "On'y thing I know is, once the charm's made, nobody can find out the secret unless the Secret-Keeper, an' _only_ the Secret-Keeper, tells 'em. Let's say — let's say I got a pet dragon," he added in a sudden flash of brilliance. "Always wanted a pet dragon."

"Er... pretty sure they're illegal to have as pets," said Ronnie, thinking of Charlie's stories of training dragons in Romania — he'd made it quite clear that even he, and probably not even Ronnie, could tame the savageness of your average dragon.

Hagrid nodded. "I know it's not exactly legal," he admitted. "So I wouldn' want anyone ter _know_ that I got a dragon, would I? So what I do —" (he paused, and then corrected himself) "—what I woulda done if I had the faintest clue how, I perform the Fidelius Charm, an' make the dragon the secret."

"And that means nobody finds out about the dragon?" said Ronnie.

"Right! An' let's say that I decide ter make _you_ my Secret-Keeper, Ronnie."

"Er, okay."

"So, now you an' me, we're the only ones who know abou' the dragon. An' the only way anyone else'll find out is if _you_ tell 'em, of yer own free will. If _I_ try ter tell someone, I won' be able to, 'cos I'm not the Secret-Keeper. Could say it's not my secret to tell. You're the only one who can reveal it."

"Isn't that a little complicated?" said Ronnie. "Couldn't you just, I dunno, be your own Secret-Keeper and keep the secret yourself?"

"S'possible to do that, too," Hagrid nodded. "Think that's called Self-Fidelius or summat. It works all right, but as I understand it, the charm's much stronger if the Secret-Keeper's someone else. Less chance of it accidentally breakin'."

"Oh."

"So, long as you, my Secret-Keeper, keep quiet, nobody else — human or animal or ghost or house-elf or centaur — can so much as _see_ the dragon I got. Even if it flies right over their heads! Secret's absolute!"

"Even if the dragon sets fire to the entire Forbidden Forest?"

"Er." Hagrid blinked, a little uncertain. "Well... they'd notice the fire, I s'ppose, but not the dragon."

"That's a comfort."

"What does any of this have to do with Sirius Black?" said Harry, once more showing his heroic struggle to appear less impatient than he was.

"Gettin' to it. Well, yeh remember I tol' yeh the story abou' how You-Know-Who came ter your house that Halloween, an' —" Hagrid had to pause here to wipe away a few tears with a large, rather grubby-looking handkerchief.

Harry and Ronnie waited. (Hagrid really had loved Harry's parents, Ronnie thought. Eleven years, and he still got teary-eyed thinking about their deaths.)

"Sorry 'bout that." Hagrid put the handkerchief back into the pocket he'd pulled it from. "Well... Thing is, I might not'a told yeh the entire story. S'ppose I thought it wasn't too important, Black was in Azkaban an' all, nothin' more ter be done..."

"Wait — _Black_ killed my parents?!" Harry sounded completely overwhelmed. "But everyone says it was Voldemort who —"

Again Hagrid winced at the sound of the name, but this time he collected himself and held up an enormous hand. "It _was!_ Black didn't kill yer parents!"

"But what _happened?!"_ Harry's patience was clearly stretched to the breaking point. "What does Black have to do with this?"

"All right," Hagrid said, taking a deep breath. "Y'see, coupla weeks before that Halloween when You-Know-Who attacked, yer parents had found out he was after them. So they went inter hiding. Moved house, kept their new address a secret, an' made sure it _stayed_ a secret by doin' the Fidelius charm. Unless the Secret-Keeper blabbed, You-Know-Who would never have foun' them, not if he looked fer a hundred years."

"But then —" Understanding dawned on Harry's face.

"Black was the Secret-Keeper," said Hagrid, and now a slight growl was sneaking into his voice. "James insisted on it. Trusted the ruddy sneak with his life. An' what happened? Not even a week after the Fidelius had been cast, You-Know-Who shows up right at James an' Lily' doorstep!"

Ronnie swallowed. Harry looked rather green.

"So Black told Voldemort where to find my parents," Harry finally managed to say. "He betrayed them. Why would he do that?"

"Why would _anyone_ do that?" said Ronnie. "Wait — maybe he was Imperiused or —" She winced. _Don't think about the Imperius!_

But Hagrid shook his head grimly. "Imperius wouldn'ta worked against the Fidelius," he said. "The Secret-Keeper _has_ ter tell of 'is own free will. Only way, see? Secret can't be forced out, it has ter be given freely. Everyone thought it was the safest Charm ever. But it turned out Black had bin spyin' for You-Know-Who all along!"

Ronnie and Harry looked at one another.

Hagrid, however, was getting rather worked up. "We knew there was a spy in our ranks," he said, "but never thought it'd be _him!_ We all thought that if there was anyone loyal ter James an' Lily, it was Sirius Black! But he'd played us all fer fools, who knows how long! And yeh know what? I _met_ him that night! _Very same night_ _he sold out his best friend!_ If I'd _known_..." Hagrid clenched his fists.

Harry swallowed. "What happened?"

"It was down in Godric's Hollow, just after the attack," said Hagrid. "I'd been sent by Dumbledore ter fetch you, Harry. Jus' got yeh outta the ruins of yer old house, alive but with that great big slash across yer forehead... An' there's Sirius Black, arrivin' on that motorbike o' his."

"Motorbike?" Harry got a strange expression on his face, as if remembering something half-forgotten.

"Yeah. Flyin' motorbike. Great big black one, sidecar an' everything."

"I think I remember it," said Harry. "Just vaguely. It was dream I used to have, back at the Dursleys, about a flying motorbike."

Hagrid looked at him, a look of surprise in his beetle-black eyes. "Yeh _do_ have a good memory," he said, a little softer. "I took yeh on that bike, that same day. Sirius lent it ter me so's I could get yeh safely away."

"But —" said Ronnie.

"Yeah, 'course, he only did that 'cos I wouldn't give Harry to him," said Hagrid, going back to his rising indignation. "I didn' know he'd bin the Secret-Keeper, I thought he'd jus' heard about the attack an' showed up ter see if he could help! But he says, give Harry ter me, Hagrid, I'll take care of 'im... Hah! He woulda taken _care_ o' you, all right! Thrown yeh right into the sea, no doubt!"

Ronnie gulped. But no, she was being ridiculous. She knew Hagrid hadn't given Harry to Sirius Black to be 'taken care of.' After all, Harry was right here, beside her.

"Then, when he couldn't talk me into it, he said, okay, take my bike, I won't need it anymore anyway." Hagrid snorted. "Shoulda known somethin' was wrong then. He _loved_ his bike, what's he givin' it ter me for? Fact was, it was too easy ter trace, everybody knew about Sirius Black an' his motorbike. His pride an' joy, that bike was."

Ronnie looked at Harry — and then jumped as Hagrid suddenly slammed his fist on the table.

 _"I shoulda stopped him!"_ he exclaimed. "He was _right there,_ wouldn'ta stood a chance against me! But no, _I_ don' have the brains of a beetle, I didn' suspect anything! I jus' thought he was upset about James an' Lily, I tried ter _comfort_ him! An' I let him _go!_ And because I was such an idiot, _thirteen people died!"_

(Fang pulled slightly away and hid behind Ronnie, clearly not comfortable with this display of anger.)

"He killed thirteen people with one curse," said Harry tonelessly, and Ronnie remembered that Neville had said something very much like that about Sirius Black, back at the Hogwarts Express. She'd found it a chilling thought then, but the context of the situation made it even worse.

"Yeah," said Hagrid. "Very next day, in fact." He was still clenching his fists, his voice quivering with emotion, but he was calming down slightly.

"What happened?" Harry repeated, still in that toneless voice.

"It was Peter Pettigrew who found 'im," said Hagrid. "Peter knew Black'd bin the Secret-Keeper. Never the brightest bloke, Peter, but he could put two an' two together. Somethin' musta broke inside 'im when he realised. He didn' tell anyone, he jus' went after Black himself. Tracked 'im down an' cornered him in..." He paused. "I forget where it was. Didn' see that part meself, jus' heard about it afterwards."

"Black killed him, didn't he?" said Ronnie. It was something she had suspected for a long time. Everyone talked about Peter being dead, and Black being a murderer.

"An' twelve Muggles who happened ter be in the area," said Hagrid. "Black was a top duellist an' knew all kindsa curses, but Peter.." Hagrid wiped his eyes again. "Nice boy, but useless in a fight. Bigges' part they found of 'im was his finger. Some sorta blastin' curse. Thirteen people, dead. They woulda lived, if I'd jus' bin less of an idiot... If I'd stopped ter _think_ for five ruddy seconds!"

"But Hagrid," said Ronnie. "You can't blame yourself for that!"

"You couldn't have known what Black was about to do," Harry agreed. "Sounds to me like he fooled everyone."

Hagrid made a slight face, as if he wasn't quite ready to believe that he wasn't an idiot. "Know what the worst part is?" he sighed. "I really thought I knew the bloke. Thought he was a good sort. Bit of a troublemaker at Hogwarts, yeah, but turnin' out a traitor an' a murderer..."

Silence sank over the room. Even Fang looked sombre (though Ronnie doubted he knew what they were talking about).

"They caught 'im in the end," Hagrid finally said. "Said he'd gone mad by then, laughin' an' ramblin', didn' even try ter fight. He was sent off to Azkaban, an' there he still is."

Harry and Ronnie were silent for a moment longer. Then, Harry broke the silence. "Thanks for telling us, Hagrid."

"Dunno if I should have," said Hagrid gruffly. "Leastways, not yet. It's an awful story."

"Yes, it is," said Harry, his voice suddenly firm, "but I'm still glad you told it. When I was younger, my Aunt and Uncle always told me my parents died in a car crash."

"Ruddy Muggles," Hagrid began — but then seemed to remember that Harry's Aunt and Uncle were still missing. And apparently he didn't think it was fitting to talk badly about missing people, because he didn't say anything else on the subject.

"When you showed up and told me what had really happened, that my parents had been killed by an evil wizard," Harry continued, "well, it was awful to think about, but it was better to know the truth."

"I s'ppose," Hagrid admitted. Then he smiled. "That sounded like something yer Mum woulda said. _Better ter know the truth,_ she woulda said... Brilliant woman, yer Mum. Glad ter know that yeh got more from her than just her eyes."

Harry made a grimace that could have been a smile, and for the first time, Ronnie wondered whether he _liked_ being compared to his parents. Somehow it seemed too personal a question to ask.

"Y'know, I still have that motorbike," said Hagrid. "Decided ter keep it. Broomsticks don't hold me so good, see? An', well, James always liked that bike. If yeh like, you're welcome ter see it some time. Find out if your dreams remembered it right."

"I think I'd like that," Harry said after the briefest of pauses. Then, he seemed to remember something, and to Ronnie's relief he fished the picture of the Marauders out of his pocket. "We did want to show you this," he said, handing it over to Hagrid.

Hagrid took it carefully, and a small, wistful smile spread on his bearded face as he looked at the four boys in the picture — who were alternating between waving at him and making rude gestures. "Yeah," he said. "That's them, all righ'. Jus' like I remember 'em from their Hogwarts days. Lupin gave this ter yeh, did he?"

"Which one is which, Hagrid?" said Ronnie, scooting over to look closer, and feeling the solid weight of Fang against her as he followed. "We didn't find out."

"Well." Hagrid turned the picture to show her, and carefully pointed with a gigantic finger. "Yeh can see James here, o' course...the pale one's Lupin... That's Black there, makin' the gesture, an' the small one's Pettigrew."

"That's Pettigrew." Ronnie looked at the picture, then at Hagrid, then at Harry. "You're _quite_ certain that's Peter Pettigrew."

"Course I am!" said Hagrid. "Don' ferget that face in a hurry, do yeh?"

"Well, in that case," said Ronnie, taking a deep breath, "there's something off about the entire thing. Because Peter Pettigrew isn't dead."

"What? 'Course he is!" said Hagrid. "Didn't yeh hear, the biggest part they found of 'im was his finger —"

"I don't care what they found," said Ronnie, giving Harry another meaningful look. "I've seen that bloke! He's not dead, he's _Wormtail!"_

"Wormtail?" said Hagrid, nonplussed. "Yeah, come ter think of it, I think I heard James an' Sirius called 'im that a few times. Could never figure out why... weird nickname, innit?"

Ronnie hoped this entire thing about feeling her jaw drop wasn't going to become a habit. _"You never said you knew Wormtail!"_

"Yeh never asked!" Hagrid looked more confused than ever. "Haven't thought about that nickname fer years, didn't even remember it 'til yeh mentioned it jus' now. What's this about?"

It turned out that Hagrid wasn't up-to-date with all the developments on the Wormtail front, though. He knew that Ronnie had seen someone in Lockhart's office while under the Invisibility Cloak, and he'd been among the people to check whether Lockhart's rats were real rats or Transfigured people, but apparently nobody had thought to mention the name "Wormtail" to him.

As Harry and Ronnie told him an abbreviated version of the story, his frown deepened. "Couldn'ta bin Pettigrew," he murmured. "He's dead, no matter what they say. Mighta been someone disguisin' themselves... Polyjuice potion? Nah, they'd need some bits of him for that, hair or fingernails or summat, wouldn'ta bin able ter get that after eleven years, even if there'd been a real body..."

"Wait... you said the biggest part of him they found was a finger," Harry suddenly said. "Ronnie — the man you saw, did he have all his fingers?"

Ronnie opened her mouth, then closed it again. She tried to remember the twitchy little man she'd seen. Had he had a full set of fingers, or hadn't he? She could have told Harry about his watery eyes, the jittery way he moved, his high-pitched voice, but fingers?

 _Aagh,_ why couldn't she have been more like Harry or Hermione? Hermione would have noticed, Harry would have remembered.

"I don't remember," she finally said. "Why, you think he faked his death by cutting off his own finger or something?"

"Maybe in order to fool Black into thinking he'd killed him, so he could escape..."

"Codswallop!" said Hagrid suddenly. "Even if he did, why'd he continue to play dead even after they caught Black? That doesn' make sense at all! Dunno what yeh saw, Ronnie, but it couldn'ta bin Pettigrew. Y'know, we really should tell Dumbledore about this," he said as the thought struck him. "Brilliant man, Dumbledore. If there's any way that someone's impersonatin' Peter Pettigrew, he'll know about it!"

Ronnie grimaced, and silently cursed her tendency to blush, because she was certain she'd just turned pinker than ever. "I know, it's just... I didn't want to tell him anything before I was sure. I felt stupid after the entire fiasco with the rats. You know, when I thought Lockhart's pet rats were... Harry's Aunt and Uncle, Transfigured into rats or something. It was stupid."

"It wasn't _that_ stupid," said Harry comfortingly. "I probably would have thought the same."

"Well," said Hagrid nodded. "Don' blame yeh fer suspectin' Lockhart migh' be up ter summat dodgy, but the rats were legit. Checked 'em meself. Completely normal white rats, jus' like yeh migh' buy in any pet shop."

"Yeah, I suppose that —" Ronnie began, but then the realisation dawned on her, with a feeling not unlike having your blood suddenly and for no good reason replaced with ice water. _"White_ rats?"

"Yeah. Normal white rats, like I said. Nothin' special about 'em at all."

"The rats I saw in Lockhart's office were _grey!"_

 

* * *

 

Ronnie was almost certain that nobody had ever got from Hagrid's hut to the Headmaster's office quite that fast before. Ten minutes later, she and Harry stood panting in front of the large, ugly stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office.

"Ah — Liquorice — _Liquorice Wand,"_ Ronnie managed to say in between her heavy breaths, trying to get her pounding heart to beat a little more slowly.

The gargoyle looked at her with an expression that could only be called _stony_. "The Headmaster's not in," it said.

"But —" Ronnie took a deep breath. "I gave you the password."

"No matter. The Headmaster's not in."

Harry, who seemed to have caught his breath now, stepped up to the gargoyle. "D'you know where he is, then? It's important we talk to him!"

"What do I look like, a message board?" the gargoyle answered, and that was the end of that.

In some ways it surprised Ronnie. Without really thinking about it, she'd more or less assumed that Dumbledore would always be in his office — when he wasn't in the Great Hall or at a Quidditch match or places like that. Just eating those Muggle sweets of his and waiting for a student or a teacher to come to him with a school-related problem, or possibly making complex plans about how to deal with You-Know-Who. But now that she thought about it, this seemed a little silly. Even Headmasters had lives, didn't they?

"What do we do now?" she said, looking at Harry.

"Go back to Hagrid's and apologise for storming out like that, maybe?" he said. "Or just wait for Dumbledore to show up. He can't be _that_ far away."

"I suppose not," Ronnie murmured. "Hope we find him soon, though. This time Lockhart won't get away that easily." She snorted. "He swapped out the rats! I can't _believe_ I didn't think of that! ...For that matter, I can't believe Lockhart _thought_ of it!" She paused. "I can't believe he thought of it and then missed the fact that the new rats were a different colour."

"Maybe he was in a hurry and couldn't find any grey rats," said Harry, who was a lot more willing to believe Ronnie's theory than Hagrid had been.

"And he couldn't do a Colour-Change Charm on them?" said Ronnie, and then realised who she was talking about. "Actually, it's Lockhart. Never mind, it makes complete sense that he couldn't."

"The question is, what did he want with my Aunt and Uncle to begin with — and where did he take them after he'd swapped them out for normal rats?"

Ronnie shook her head. "D'you ever miss the days when the biggest mystery was where You-Know-Who and Snape had gone off to?"

What Harry thought on that particular subject, Ronnie never knew, because a new, and familiarly dreamy, voice suddenly broke into the conversation: "Hello, Veronica — Hello, Harry."

Ronnie and Harry turned to see Luna Lovegood was standing there, together with another Hufflepuff girl; Ronnie recognised Hannah Abbott, who was in their year and whom they had Herbology class with.

"Oh — hi, Luna," said Ronnie. "And, er, Hannah."

"What are you two talking about?" said Hannah, looking concerned. "Is there something wrong with Professor Lockhart?"

"Er." Ronnie blinked. "Actually —"

"How much did you hear?" said Harry hurriedly.

Hannah and Luna exchanged glances. "Something about Professor Lockhart and rats and Colour-Change-Charms," said Luna. She lowered her voice, taking on a conspirational tone. "I think he's a favourite target of the Wrackspurts."

"What?" said Ronnie.

"Oh, come on, Luna," said Hannah, "Professor Lockhart is not a target of Wrackspurts! I don't know what you have against him! He's so... he's so..." She sighed like the smitten twelve-year-old she all too obviously was.

"So confused," said Luna, apparently missing Hannah's real meaning. "Yes, I know. It's because the Wrackspurts like him so much. They enter his ears, and make his brain go all fuzzy, and they do it to him more than anyone else, and that's why he's not a very good teacher."

Ronnie looked at Luna in surprise. It was rare for other girls to say anything even mildly degrading about Lockhart; it was always about how handsome he was, how brave or intelligent. It had often felt to Ronnie that she was the only girl who saw him as the ponce he was — even Hermione kept defending him. But Luna... it really seemed that she too could see through Lockhart's act, even if she did it in her weird Luna-ish way.

Harry seemed to have thought somewhat of the same, because he looked at her with more interest than before. "You didn't happen to notice anything else about him?" he said.

Luna thought about it. "I'm pretty sure that's not his natural hair colour," she offered. "And sometimes he gets a strange look in his eyes."

"What d'you mean?" said Harry.

"Oh, haven't you heard how he constantly says that his secret ambition is to market his own hair-care potions?" said Luna. "He's clearly good with hair-care, so he'd be good at making himself look like a natural blond, but I think his complexion doesn't quite fit —"

"Not about the hair!" said Harry, clearly trying to be patient (and not managing much better than he had at Hagrid's). "I meant about the strange look!"

"Oh," said Luna, with no sign of embarrassment. "It looks like this." Her eyes glazed over for a moment and then returned to their normal expression of mad amazement. "Oh, and he's afraid of Professor Flamel."

"That's ridiculous!" said Hannah. "Why would _Professor Lockhart_ be afraid of Professor Flamel?"

"I wouldn't know," said Luna, "but he is. Whenever Professor Flamel shows up, Lockhart can't leave fast enough. Usually he doesn't even have any good excuses."

"Well, maybe he just doesn't _like_ Flamel!" said Hannah. "It doesn't mean he's afraid! You're just being mean!"

"I am?" Luna looked genuinely surprised. "I didn't think I was. Is it mean to say what you think when people ask?"

"Look," said Harry hurriedly. "Do either of you know where Dumbledore is? We really need to talk to him."

"No." Luna shook her head. "I do know where Professor Flamel is, though. Does that help?"

"Er, I don't think so —" Harry began.

"Actually, it does!" Ronnie grabbed Harry's arm. "Luna's right, Lockhart's _afraid_ of Flamel! If Flamel's the one who investigates, maybe it'll scare Lockhart into confessing!"

"Er," said Harry, not looking completely convinced. "I suppose we could try. Could you go find Professor Flamel, Luna? And, er, ask him if he could meet Ronnie and me in the Defence classroom?"

"Yes, Harry," said Luna. "Come on, Hannah!" She turned on her heels and skipped off.

Hannah lingered. She looked from Harry to Ronnie. "What is this all about?" she said, halfway curious and halfway annoyed. Then, her eyes widened. "You don't think...!" she gasped. "You don't think Professor Lockhart has that... that _diary?!"_

"Er." Ronnie blinked. "Maybe?"

"Maybe he's locked in a heroic struggle against You-Know-Who!" Hannah gasped. "That's why he's so distracted, he needs to use every waking hour to fight against You-Know-Who!" Once more, she let out a small sigh of smitten admiration for someone so brave — but then she gathered herself. "We need to rescue him! _Luna, wait!"_ And with that she turned on her heels and rushed off after the younger girl.

Ronnie stared. "Maybe Fred was right," she muttered. "Maybe the oddballs _do_ end up in Hufflepuff."

Harry smacked his forehead. "Maybe the _stupid_ ones end up in Gryffindor," he groaned. "Ronnie, we're idiots. We're walking around with a perfect way to check where Dumbledore is, and we don't even give that so much as a thought!"

"Oh — oh yeah!" said Ronnie, and felt herself turn pink again as Harry fished the Marauder's Map out of his robe pocket. "Of _course!_ Didn't you say that it was hard to find people on the Map unless you knew where to look, though?"

"Well, we certainly won't find him if we don't even try to look." Harry pulled out his wand to tap the parchment. _"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!"_

Ronnie got closer to him to once more see the Map proudly declare that it was presented by Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, and then display the now-familiar outline of the school grounds. "Hey," she said, "check Lockhart's office while you're at it! If we're going to go there with Flamel, it helps to know If Lockhart's actually there or not!"

"Right, good thinking," said Harry. His eyes scanned the map — and then widened behind his glasses. "What — _again?"_

"What do you mean, again?" Ronnie pushed herself against him to look.

"Look — Right there, in Lockhart's office, with Lockhart!" Harry pointed at Lockhart's office on the Map.

Ronnie blinked. Right there, just by Harry's finger and next to the dot marked _Gilderoy Lockhart_ was another dot clearly marked _Vernon Dursley._

"This time!" said Harry, looking at Ronnie with determination. "This time we're not going to lose him! We're going down to Lockhart's office _right now,_ and I'm keeping an eye on the Map to see if they ever leave it!"

They set off, hurrying down the corridors towards the Defence classroom and the entrance to Lockhart's office; Harry holding the Marauder's Map the entire time and making certain that neither Lockhart nor Vernon Dursley moved.

As they got closer to the Defence classroom, Ronnie couldn't help but feeling a little anxious about the whole thing; she recalled all too well the last time they had ran down to Lockhart's office to look for Harry's Uncle, and had found the Petrified form of Lavender Brown...

No, it was silly. What would the odds be that — _"Ouch!"_ Ronnie's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden pain on her chest. _The Warning Fang around her neck was growing painfully hot._

"Oh, no," said Harry suddenly, stopping dead in his tracks. "The voice! That's the voice again!"

Trying not to wince at the uncomfortable heat against her chest, Ronnie strained herself to hear, but just like before she heard and saw nothing. "The Warning Fang's going nuts too, but I can't hear anything — the Map! Check the Map!"

They both looked down at the Map. And to their surprise, words were forming on the parchment:

 

_Mr. Moony would strongly suggest that you run away right now, you idiots._

_Mr. Prongs agrees with Mr. Moony and would add that in general, pranks are hard to pull off when you are dead._

_Mr. Padfoot expresses his astonishment that you are still standing here reading this when fleeing for your life is such a great alternative._

_Mr. Wormtail hopes that you would listen to Messrs. Moony, Prongs and Padfoot, and implores you not to blame him when ignoring their sound advice leads to your untimely death._

 

"What the hell?!" Ronnie could hear her own voice turn almost as shrill as Hermione's did whenever she was agitated.

"The voice... the voice is moving in _that_ direction," said Harry, pointing in the opposite direction of which they were going. "It's saying something about..." He blinked. _"Honourless scum?_! But that's exactly what Luna —"

"Whatever that voice is, it's got both the Fang and the Map scared," Ronnie interrupted, ignoring the obvious question how a map could be scared in the first place, or why Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs have suddenly decided to get chatty. "It's got to be the same thing that Petrified Lavender and the ghosts!"

She could see that the same thought had struck Harry: They were both immune to potions, and Mandrake draught was the only safe way to un-Petrify someone. To them, Petrification might as well be death.

"Now it's talking about killing again! _'Should kill'!"_ Harry took a deep breath. "Wands out?" he suggested.

"Let's." Ronnie drew her wand from her pocket — not that it was likely to do much good against something powerful enough to Petrify a whole roomful of ghosts, but she felt a little better holding it.

And then, all of a sudden, the Warning Fang was cool against her skin again.

Harry blinked. "It vanished! Just like before!" He took the Map, which he was still holding in his left hand, and peered at it. A few seconds later, he looked up with a dumbfounded expression on his face. "And there's nothing on the Map about it!"

"Let me see that!" Ronnie snatched the Map from him. The text from before had vanished, and the Map spread out like before, completely unchanged. Dots indicating students wandering around in other parts of the castle, completely undisturbed by whatever had happened. A couple of moving dots signalled that Nicolas Flamel were making his way towards them at a leisurely pace, followed by Luna and Hannah, and apparently completely unaware of any voices that wanted to kill. There was no sign of anything dangerous as she could see — or if there was, she couldn't identify it.

She repressed the urge to throw the Map to the floor and stomp on it in frustration. "What _is_ that voice?" she cried. "How does it keep getting around without anyone spotting it? Why is it _I_ can't hear it? _What the bloody hell is wrong with this Map?!"_

Harry took the Map back from her. "I think," he said gravely, "that maybe we're too late."

Ronnie blinked. "What?"

"The voice," said Harry. "It wasn't _going_ somewhere. It was _coming back_ from somewhere."

"What?" Ronnie repeated.

"The last thing I heard it say was _'should have killed.'_ Almost as if it was complaining about something. Some _'honourless scum'_ that it _'should have killed'?"_ He looked at her as if this should tell her something.

"...So?" Ronnie said, before — all of a sudden — understanding dawned. _"Oh._ Bugger."

 

* * *

 

They reached the Defence classroom a couple of minutes before Flamel did — two minutes which they spent determining that there were no Petrified girls outside the office, and finding out that the basic _Alohomora_ Charm did not work on Lockhart's door.

"Anti-Unlocking Charm," said Ronnie. "Mum and Dad sometimes put it on their bedroom door, when — er — yeah," she finished feebly, desperately hoping that the image that suddenly entered her head about what Lockhart and Vernon Dursley were up to behind the door wasn't true.

 _"Monsieur_ Potter, _Mademoiselle_ Weasley," said Flamel as he stepped inside, elegantly attired as always in his bottle-green robes, and looking surprisingly calm for someone who must have had a rather confused summary of what was going on by two less-than-accurate Hufflepuff girls. "I would advise you to stand back."

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but then apparently remembered how it had gone the last time he'd stood in front of Flamel's office and claimed that his Uncle was in there. Instead he just stood back from the door and pulled Ronnie along with him.

Flamel didn't ask questions. Whatever Hannah and Luna had told him, it was apparently enough for him to have decided action was called for. He climbed up the stairs to the office door while taking out his wand.

He didn't even speak any incantations, he just waved the wand at the door. There was a brief flash of light — and the door swung open, any and all protections broken. (Bill would have loved this, Ronnie vaguely thought; her oldest brother worked as a Curse-breaker for Gringotts and had to bypass protections and Anti-Unlocking Charms all the time.)

"Again, children, please stand back," he said again. "I do not know what I shall find in there."

"It could be Nargles," said Luna hopefully from the bottom of the stairs, losing a few of the points she'd recently gained with Ronnie for her insight about Lockhart. As a contrast to the nervous-looking Hannah, she was as calm as Flamel was; the only detectable emotion on her face was that of a mild curiosity.

Flamel didn't answer her remark about Nargles. He just peered inside the room with some caution — and when terrible monsters completely failed to jump out at him and bite his head off, he tentatively entered through the open door.

Ronnie tensed up, halfway expecting the horrible screams to start at any moment. But they never did. Instead, all she heard Flamel's surprised voice saying something in French.

After a few more moments, when the screams still didn't come, Harry nodded to her, and together they entered the room.

The sight that met them was far less gruesome and disgusting than the images Ronnie's imagination had provided her with, but it still wasn't very pleasant: Gilderoy Lockhart was lying on the floor in front of one of the mirrors, stiff as a statue, his face frozen in a look of dopey surprise.

"Petrified," said Flamel grimly. (From outside the room, they could head Hannah's horrified squeak, followed by footsteps hurrying up the stairs towards them.)

Ronnie felt her stomach twist itself. Whenever she thought she had an angle on where Lockhart fit into all this, something would happen that completely turned things around. And now the man was lying there, as still and glassy-eyed as Lavender had been when they found her... it would be impossible to ask him anything for the months it took for those damn Mandrakes to mature.

 _Crookshanks,_ she thought. _Everything'll make sense if I just get to talk to Crookshanks. I'm learning that ruddy Animaloqui Charm, no matter what!_

She registered, briefly, that Hannah was in the doorway, looking at the Petrified Lockhart with something approaching panic, but then Harry took up her attention instead: He'd let out a halfway-shocked cry and hurried over to Flamel — who was kneeling down by the _other_ man who was lying on the floor, a few feet away.

"Uncle Vernon!" he cried.

Ronnie barely recognised Vernon Dursley as the same man who had bellowed and threatened her and Ginny that Summer. Then he had been large, beefy and red-faced; now he was pale, unshaven, hollow-cheeked, and had the sickly and shrunken appearance of a man who had lost a great deal of weight in a very short time.

He was lying so still that at first Ronnie thought he was Petrified as well — but then all of a sudden he heaved for his breath and twitched.

 _"Monsieur,"_ said Flamel, trying to keep him from sitting up. "Please, lie still. Are you all right? Do you need medical attention?"

Vernon heaved for his breath again and let out a few hoarse sounds. Then, his head turned, and his eyes fell on Harry, who had stepped over Lockhart and was standing close by. _"You!"_ he said, his voice a little clearer.

"Uncle Vernon," Harry repeated, and for a moment as their eyes met, it almost seemed like there was some concern between them — just as if his Uncle had never called him a freak and never locked him up in a room with bars in front of the window. "What happened to you?"

"Listen!" Vernon tried to sit up, but only managed to raise his head a few inches before falling back down. "You've got to — you've got —" He breathed heavily.

" _Monsieur_ , lie still!" said Flamel. "Let me call for a house-elf, we can summon _Madame_ Pomfrey —"

"No!" Vernon moaned making another feeble attempt at raising his head. "You don't understand! That bastard — _that bastard's got Petunia."_

"Where?" said Harry. "Where does he have her? _Who_ has her?"

Vernon opened his mouth to answer. Then, all of a sudden, his expression froze and his eyes glazed over. When he finally spoke, it was in a cold, chilling voice that didn't even sound human: _"Listen, Muggle filth. I would kill you here and now and spare the universe your existence, but I need you to deliver a message for me. Tell that fool Dumbledore that there is nothing he can do. The Dark Lord is rising, the Chamber of Secrets is open!"_

"The Chamber of Secrets?" Harry mouthed, but Flamel shushed him.

Vernon had started laughing; a cruel and merciless laugh with no humour and very little sanity in it. _"The days of traitors and Mudbloods are numbered! And let them know know that it was all due to a couple of Muggles!"_

And then, he slumped, his eyes rolling up into the back of his head, and he went completely limp.

Silence filled the room.

"Is he dead?" said Luna, who had arrived behind Hannah and was somewhat awkwardly petting the stricken-looking girl on the back, in a clear attempt to be comforting.

Flamel gingerly touched the man, who let out a slight _'whuff'_ sound and then lay still again. "Merely unconscious. We have to get him up to the hospital wing, and then find out what has happened to him."

 

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I implied up top there, I had some problems with this chapter; among other reasons because so much of it turned out to go over information we as fans and readers already knew — and also we know where the misinformation comes in. But the entire Marauders story is too important to skip, and it's so much of an emotional crux for Harry that skimming over it wouldn't work. Hopefully it wasn't too much of a chore to sit through, and hopefully the new development at least partially makes up for it.
> 
> Well, off to write chapter fourteen, and hopefully this time you won't have to wait several months for the continuation!


	14. Memories and Mysteries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well… turned out you did have to wait several months for the continuation.
> 
> I recently switched my default writing program from Kingsoft Writer to Microsoft Word (largely because I got a year's free subscription out of the deal), and while Word certainly has its advantages, the transition has… not exactly been painless. Nothing is where I'm used to it being, customisation is awkward and often counter-intuitive, and — most frustrating of all — there was a hiccup in the saving that caused me to lose an entire almost-finished chapter.
> 
> Pretty infuriating, especially when the chapter was already giving me heaps of trouble and I was on the fourth rewrite.
> 
> Anyway, this (in addition to the regular "been-busy-with-real-life" excuses) should hopefully explain at least partially why this chapter is so late. Still, to all of you who were worried about me and begging for updates: Thank you for your concern, and for your interest!
> 
> (If you haven't already read it, I did write a short-story back in February called The Leapling, which is about Ronnie's birth, and how she ended up with the name "Veronica." It also reveals the mystery of her middle name.)

"Come _on,_ Parvati!" Ronnie shouted through the closed door, pounding on the solid wood with her fists. "Open up!"

There was no answer.

"This _is ridiculous,"_ Hermione huffed, pushing past Ronnie, leaning against the door and raising her voice. "You can't stay in there forever! You'll get _hungry_ , you'll miss all the _lessons_ — Fay, you're at least _slightly_ sensible, talk to her!"

"No!" came Fay's voice, a little muffled but just audible through the thick door. "We're in mourning in here!"

"Lockhart isn't _dead_ , you idiots!" Ronnie fumed. "He's just Petrified! He'll be back to his normal annoying self once those damn Mandrakes are ready — really, you three, I thought you were _better_ than this! Shutting yourself in just because some plonker you fancy's gone off to the hospital wing?"

"It's not that!" This time Parvati's voice sounded through the door. "Don't you get it? Whoever it is — _whatever_ it is that's Petrifying people — it got the drop on _Professor Lockhart!"_

"So?"

"So what chance do _we_ have? What chance does _any_ of us have? We'll end up just like poor Lavender, every last one of us!" Parvati's voice lowered and became almost incomprehensible through the door, but Ronnie had the feeling she was holding back a sob. But then, with some more firmness, she added: "We're not opening this door for anyone!"

Ronnie and Hermione exchanged glances. "Maybe if we try to hunt up Parvati's sister," Ronnie said in a low voice. "Padma's in Ravenclaw, right, maybe she can talk some sense into her."

"I've been trying to talk sense into that airhead for more than a year," Hermione muttered. "Honesty, sometimes she's even worse than Lav—" she cut herself off, took a deep breath and then raised her voice: "We're going to have to get Professor McGonagall!"

"I don't care!" Parvati returned.

"She'll take every last point from Gryffindor!"

"So?"

"At least open the door for long enough that Hermione and I can get in!" said Ronnie. "What if _we_ get Petrified? It'll be your fault for leaving us out of our own dormitory!"

There was a slight pause, as Parvati seemed to consider this. "Sorry," she finally said. "I'm not opening the door. You can hide in another dormitory. I'm sure Ginny will let you stay in hers."

"Or the _boys,"_ came Fay's voice. "You're always with them anyway! Might as well make it official!"

"We're not —" Hermione began, and then apparently gave up. She leaned wearily against the door, her face a study in mixed emotions; concern, annoyance and exasperation, with just the tiniest hint of a desire to just break down and cry _._

_"Honestly,"_ she repeated, clearly struggling to keep her voice steady. "This can't go on. It's even worse than last year, when Voldemort and Quirrell were about. At least then we knew who was out there, and nobody had to stay in the hospital wing for months, and teachers weren't being attacked, and the others weren't being so — so _silly."_

Ronnie had to agree that at the moment she thought their fellow students were being pretty silly. If the Petrifications of Lavender and the ghosts had caused alarm, the reactions to Lockhart's Petrification seemed like they were going to be ten times worse.

It had only been a few hours since Lockhart's Petrification, and already rumours were spreading.

Professor Flamel had expertly used the _Mobilicorpus_ charm to levitate the bodies of both the Petrified Lockhart and the unconscious Vernon Dursley, in order to take them from Lockhart's office and over to the hospital wing.

Of course this meant that he'd had to levitate them through the corridors, and of course this meant that they couldn't avoid being seen by portraits, teachers and students alike.

Harry, Ronnie, Luna and Hannah had gone along to the hospital wing, of course — but once both men had been settled down in the hospital beds, only Harry (as Vernon's family) had been allowed to stay. The girls had been shooed off by Madam Pomfrey, and Flamel had escorted them back to their respective common rooms.

On the way, they had passed several groups of sobbing, wailing girls, and been stopped by a group of Ravenclaws who demanded to know if it was true that Lockhart was dead.

It was enough to drive you up the wall. As if this wasn't bad enough without all this overreacting. And apparently not even Gryffindor, the house of the brave, was immune to this sort of idiocy.

At least _Hermione_ hadn't gone off the deep end. Ronnie had often been annoyed at how her usually-so-clever friend had swallowed Lockhart's act so completely, and even more annoyed at that soppy, dreamy look Hermione sometimes got in her eyes when talking about that ponce — but when Ronnie had talked to the rest of Potter's Gang and told them everything that had happened, Hermione had remained calm and rational throughout. And she hadn't rushed off to lock herself in the dormitory with Parvati and the others.

Presently, Hermione straightened herself and turned to look at Ronnie again. "They'll come out," she said. "Within a few hours they'll calm down and they'll see how irrational they're being."

"Hopefully before bedtime," said Ronnie. "I'm not sleeping in Ginny's dormitory. We'd end up having to share her bed, and she _kicks_ in her sleep."

"And of course, there's no Defence teacher again," Hermione sighed. "I'm starting to think that rumour about the Defence teacher post being cursed is true! Two teachers, gone in less than two years! None of us are going to pass any of the Defence exams!"

"We weren't going to pass any exams anyway, with Lockhart trying to teach," Ronnie muttered. "Look, Hermione, at least admit he was a rubbish teacher."

Hermione blushed and avoided Ronnie's eyes. "You've just had it in for him ever since those pixies attacked you in the first Defence class."

"And _you've_ been drooling over him since he first gave you that stupid award-winning smile of his," Ronnie countered.

"I haven't been — You shouldn't talk that way about a man who's in the hospital wing!" Hermione blushed and refused to meet Ronnie's eyes.

"But he isn't dead," said Ronnie again. And because she was getting a little annoyed, she added: "You know, they put him next to Lavender. I saw that much before Madam Pomfrey chased me out of the hospital wing."

"What are you talking about?" said Hermione impatiently.

"Well," said Ronnie. "Lavender drooled over him much worse than you ever did. Bet she'd love it if she knew he was keeping her company while she was Petrified."

Hermione's head snapped back up. "If you think you're being funny —!" she began, but then cut herself off. "Where's Crookshanks?"

"Er. Down in the common room, I think," said Ronnie, a little taken aback at this sudden change of topic. "Ginny and Colin were playing with him. Why?"

"Because we're going to go down there right now, and I'm going to cast the _Animaloqui_ Charm on you, and you're going to talk to your cat and find out _exactly_ what Dobby told him! We've been putting this off for far too long!"

Ronnie's stomach twisted. Of _course_ Hermione had already mastered that charm. She'd probably only pretended she hadn't, just to give Ronnie a chance to learn it herself. But now, what with everything that had happened, her patience was clearly at an end, and Ronnie really couldn't blame her.

So she didn't protest as Hermione dragged her off towards the stairs — though before they could so much as set foot on the first step, they had to stop to avoid colliding with Ginny.

The girl was rushing up the stairs, coming to a halt when she saw Ronnie and Hermione. "There you are," she panted. "You've got to come quick! Common room!"

"What?" Ronnie blinked. "What's happening? Oh no, is there _another_ Petrification?"

Ginny shook her head. "Just come on!" With that, she turned and raced back down the stairs.

Ronnie and Hermione once more exchanged glances and hurried after her.

Already before they'd gone all the way down, the sound of excited voices reached them; something was clearly going on down there. Ronnie immediately recognised Colin's high-pitched voice over all the others, as he yelled: "Separate them! Take him out of the room!"

"But they're not _doing_ anything," said another voice. "They're just looking at each other!"

"Five Galleons on the cat! Any takers?"

"Shut up, Fred!"

Ronnie entered the common room to see a group of students — among them Colin, Neville, Fred, George and Percy — gathered around one of the deep chairs by the fireplace. And on the backrest of the chair…

_"Fawkes!"_ said Ronnie, her heart leaping.

And indeed; there was the familiar red-and-gold-feathered bird; one of the most beautiful animals Ronnie knew. He was Dumbledore's; one of very few domesticated phoenixes in the world. Phoenixes were usually shy and skittish and wouldn't let any humans get close to them, but Fawkes was different. He liked humans, and though he was utterly devoted to Dumbledore above everything, he didn't mind being around other wizards or witches either. And like so many other animals, he'd taken a particular liking to Ronnie and would perch on her shoulder whenever they met.

At the moment, however, he was busy peering down at the armrest of the chair, where Crookshanks was sitting and staring up at him with yellow eyes.

Cat and bird seemed locked in some kind of staring contest or possibly a mutual examination. Crookshanks in particular seemed perplexed; his bottle-brush tail twitching the way it always did when he encountered something new and unfamiliar, so he was clearly trying to work out what the hell kind of bird this was supposed to be.

"It's like the neighbour's cat back home!" said Colin. "He'll sit for ages watching the birds, and then all of a sudden, he pounces! And — oh, Ronnie!" he added as he noticed that Ronnie and Hermione had arrived.

Neville, who was standing right next to him, also looked over at the girls. "It's all right," he said to Colin. "Ronnie's got this. She's _brilliant_ with animals."

"Yes, everybody calm!" said George dramatically. "The Mistress of All Animals has arrived!"

"Shut up, George," said Ronnie, feeling herself going pink. "What's going on here?"

"That bird just suddenly flew out of the fireplace and got into a staring contest with your cat," said Cormac McLaggen, who was scowling from one of the corners. "Why is it that every time something happens around here, you and the rest of that gang of yours are right in the thick of it?"

"And why is it, Cormac," said Katie Bell acidly, "that you keep _complaining_ about them?" (She was in McLaggen's year, Ronnie remembered, and would probably have been subject to even more of his complaining than the other Gryffindor Quidditch players.)

"Everyone shut up!" said Percy in his best Prefect voice. "Ronnie, animals are your department. Please sort this out."

"Right," said Ronnie. "Thanks for that. It's all right, Colin, I don't think he's gonna attack. If he was planning on that, his tail would be moving in a different way. Crookshanks — Fawkes — hello."

The crowd parted to let her through. Even without the praise of Neville and Percy, Ronnie's skills with animals was well-known among Gryffindors, and (she was secretly rather pleased with this) by now everyone knew better than to come between her and an animal.

As she approached the chair, Fawkes looked away from Crookshanks and turned his head and let out a beautiful trilling sound in greeting. At once, he had lifted from the chair and, in one elegant motion he had flown over to Ronnie and landed to perch on her outstretched arm.

A few first-years were gasping in awe, and even a few older students looked impressed. Phoenixes weren't exactly everyday fare in the Gryffindor common room, and their skittish nature was well-known. For one to willingly seek out a human to perch on like this… well, the only other known phoenix to do anything like it was Sparky, the mascot for the Moutohora Macaws Quidditch team, and as far as Ronnie knew he had never been to Hogwarts.

As she felt the familiar weight of the phoenix on her arm, a sense of calm flowed through Ronnie. Fawkes always had that effect on her; while holding an animal in general tended to make her feel better about everything, with Fawkes the touch was magical; it was as if he radiated a sensation that everything was going to be fine and nothing was impossible.

No wonder Dumbledore could be so cheerful even in troubled times.

"Hello, Fawkes," Ronnie repeated, stroking his wonderfully warm feathers with a gentle finger. "Good to see you."

Once again, he trilled at her. Then, he shifted on her arm and extended one leg to her. Now she saw that he had a note tied to it.

"Oh," she said, understanding dawning. "Playing post owl, are you?" Carefully, she removed the note from the bird's leg, and — a little awkwardly, because she could only use the one hand — unrolled it to read:

 

_Ronnie,_  
_I regret not being there when you and Harry called on me earlier, but I was away from the school at the time. I would very much like to talk to you now, though, and am waiting for you in my office. I trust you do not mind me sending Fawkes to fetch you; he has been wanting to see you again._  
_\- A. D._

 

"Dumbledore's back," said Ronnie, looking up from the note to meet the eyes of the questioning Gryffindors around her. "He wants me to come to his office — it's probably about Lockhart and Harry's Uncle. I'd better go with Fawkes, then…" She paused.

Hermione had scooped up Crookshanks and was holding him in her arms. The cat was still keeping his eyes on Fawkes, apparently still not entirely sure what to make of this strange new bird, but he didn't seem to mind being held by Hermione. This wasn't a surprise; of all the non-Ronnie girls in their dormitory Crookshanks had always seemed to like Hermione the best. And normally, Ronnie was happy that her cat and her friend got on so well. But right now…!

If she left with Fawkes, Hermione would do the _Animaloqui_ charm and talk to Crookshanks. And… Ronnie didn't want her to. She knew she was being petty, but… she didn't want Hermione to be the first one who got to talk — _really_ talk — with _her_ cat.

She had already admitted as much to Harry that same day, when he had found her practicing the charm in that empty classroom. And Harry had understood, because he was decent like that. But Hermione? Wonderful though the girl might be in many respects, Ronnie didn't think she would have the patience for understanding.

"Tell you what, Hermione," she said instead. "Why don't you come with me?"

"Me?" said Hermione, stretching her neck to look at the note. "Professor Dumbledore doesn't say anything about me. And if it's about Lockhart or Harry's Uncle, I wouldn't be any help. I didn't even _see_ them."

"No, but you're much smarter than me," Ronnie goaded. "If you hear everything Harry and I have to say, you'll be able to, y'know, _deduce_ stuff from it."

"I doubt I could think of anything that Professor Dumbledore couldn't," said Hermione, though her cheeks turned a little red at the praise.

"Can we come too?" said Colin eagerly, bouncing up beside Ronnie and pulling Ginny and Neville with him. "I've never seen the Headmaster's office! Well, not here at Hogwarts, anyway. Back at my old Muggle school —"

"Now, hold on!" said Percy, stepping up in front of the crowd and crossing his arms. "The Headmaster's office isn't an open house! You can't just invite whoever you like to join you there!"

"Lay off, Percy," said George. "The Headmaster's a smart man, by now he'll have caught on to the fact that inviting _one_ member of the famous Potter's Gang is the same as inviting _all_ of them."

"That is the most ridiculous —" Percy began, but was interrupted as Fawkes once more opened his beak to let out a beautiful trilling sound, and spread his wings.

And then…

Everything was a whirlwind of fire. Ronnie felt herself swept up by a raging torrent of impossible heat and flame; she tried to gasp for her breath but she no longer had a mouth to open or lungs to take in air; she was burning, she was fire, she was —

Fawkes let go of her, and the world came back into sharp focus and she fell over, her body once more as solid and normal as the floor that came up to collide with her. And the four rather heavy bodies that consequently fell on top of her.

The wild ride was over, as soon as it had begun, and for a long moment Ronnie could do nothing apart from heave for her breath… and turn pink again as it dawned on her that someone's foot was on her arse.

And she was currently lying at the bottom of a pile consisting of — let's see —

"Whose knee is that in my back?"

_"Ow!_ Go away, you're pulling on my hair!"

"Will whoever's got their elbow in my face move it before I hex it off?"

"Nobody move! I'm standing on my hands!"

— Neville, Hermione, Ginny and Colin.

"My goodness," came Dumbledore's voice from above. "I must admit I wasn't expecting this many visitors."

Ronnie struggled a bit to look up from her awkward position, but could see that the Gryffindor common room had vanished around them, to be replaced with the Headmaster's office, complete with the Headmaster himself standing above her.

And right next to the pile, Crookshanks was sitting and looking as casual as only a cat could. He'd clearly come along for the ride but had avoided the pile, probably by jumping out of Hermione's hands at the right time, and now he was nonchalantly licking his paws to demonstrate how this sudden Apparition hadn't bothered him at _all_ , and how silly the humans were for ending up in a pile like this.

Fawkes, clearly pleased with himself, was circling over their heads with a triumphant trill.

After a few somewhat awkward and slightly embarrassing seconds of untangling, the small pile or wizards and witches got to their feet, a little dishevelled and more than a little embarrassed, but none the worse for wear.

The Headmaster's office hadn't changed much since Ronnie's last visit back in September; still littered with all sorts of magical devices that Ronnie could only begin to guess the purpose of, with portraits of the old Headmasters and Headmistresses looking down at them all from above. All of them were paying close attention to the newcomers; some of them looked amused; others were frowning at the antics.

Thankfully, Dumbledore seemed to be going more in the direction of amusement. He stood by his large desk, looking at them all over his half-moon spectacles. "Well," he said. "An unexpected crowd, but thankfully an unharmed one."

"We're sorry, Professor Dumbledore," said Hermione, of course the first one to speak. "We didn't mean to intrude like this — we just Apparated, didn't we? I've read that phoenixes are among the birds capable of Apparating, and I remember seeing Fawkes doing it last Christmas, but we didn't think that he would — Besides, I thought it was impossible for _humans_ to Apparate on Hogwarts grounds —"

"Breathe, Hermione," said Ginny, who seemed to be the least shaken of them. "That was a sudden trip. Probably scared the living daylights out of Percy and the others that we vanished like that."

"My apologies," said Dumbledore as Fawkes landed on his outstretched arm and proudly ruffled his feathers. "I sent Fawkes to fetch Ronnie, but I did not anticipate that he'd decide to bring all of you."

Fawkes trilled happily — was Ronnie mistaken, or was that an almost Dumbledore-ish twinkle of mischief in his black eyes?

"That's all right!" said Ginny. "Sir," she added as she apparently remembered she _was_ talking to the Headmaster. "A new experience, right?"

"It was _so cool!"_ Colin squeaked. He looked dishevelled, his hair a mess, but his eyes were shining with excitement.

"A most Gryffindor attitude," Dumbledore smiled. "What about the rest of you? Are you all right after your, ahem, sudden trip? Nothing broken, I trust?"

"I think I'm fine," said Neville, and then added in a lower tone. "Except I feel like I've left my stomach back in the common room."

Ronnie knew exactly how he felt. She had never Apparated before in her life, but if _this_ was what it was like, she never wanted to do it again.

She knew, of course, how some birds could Apparate, and that phoenixes (unlike, say, Diricawls or Golden Snidgets) were capable of taking other creatures along with them while doing so — though with the traditionally shy and skittish nature of the phoenix almost no humans had ever experienced this. She would probably feel very honoured about being one of the few when her stomach had settled properly.

"The sensation does take some getting used to," said Dumbledore. "I would not say Side-Along Apparition feels _completely_ like doing it yourself, especially not the phoenix variant, but it is close enough." He carefully stroked Fawkes's head with a long finger. "Marvellous creatures, phoenixes. Highly intelligent and very magical. And as Hermione rightly pointed out, they are among the few animals that can Apparate; far better than us mere humans, at that. The Anti-Apparition Jinx on Hogwarts grounds means nothing to Fawkes."

Crookshanks, who had been cleaning himself on the floor for the duration of the conversation, suddenly jumped up onto the Headmaster's desk. There he stood, tail twitching very slightly as he looked up at Fawkes.

_"Crookshanks!"_ Ronnie admonished. "No jumping on the Headmaster's desk! I'm sorry, Professor, he's just curious, when he flicks his tail like that it means —"

But Dumbledore just chuckled. "Quite all right," he said, reaching out to let Crookshanks sniff his hand and then gently scratch behind the cat's ear. "He likely has never seen anything like Fawkes before. I believe he comes from the _Magical Menagerie?_ It's a wonderful shop, of course, with all kinds of fascinating animals, but I doubt they have any phoenixes."

He lowered his arm to let Fawkes hop down onto the desk, in order to let cat and bird greet properly.

"Careful!" Hermione gasped.

"It's all right," said Neville. "They're quite calm, look—"

Now face-to-face, Crookshanks and Fawkes were looking at one another. Next to each other the two animals made for a peculiar-looking pair. Fawkes was the epitome of elegance, with his scarlet plumage and long, beautiful golden tail, and he moved his head this way and that to look at the cat first through one eye, then the other. Crookshanks, by contrast, was stocky and unattractive, with a flat face and an expression that most humans would described as "eternally grumpy," but at the moment he was just stretching to sniff the unfamiliar bird.

Then, Fawkes flipped his long golden tail and clicked his beak once in what seemed to be a friendly acknowledgment, and Crookshanks sat down, half-closed his eyes and started to purr.

"And that's the official Crookshanks Seal of Approval," said Ronnie.

"That is good to hear," said Dumbledore. "The situation being what it is, I think my schedule is about to become rather packed. So I have once again asked Fawkes to keep an eye on you all — just as he did last year. I trust you have no objections to this?"

"No objections!" said Ronnie hurriedly. "Right, guys?"

Of course they didn't have any. Hermione, Neville and to a lesser extent Ginny had all come to know Fawkes from last year, and Colin just thought it was cool to have a phoenix around. Crookshanks looked at the bird, then at Ronnie, flicking an ear and cocking his head as if to say _yeah, whatever._

"Very well," said Dumbledore. "With Crookshanks's permission, we shall call that settled." Then he grew a little more serious. "It is just as well you all did come along," he said as he looked them over. "Perhaps you can help cast a little light over something that has perplexed me."

Ronnie braced herself. He was going to ask how they had known something was up in Lockhart's office, not once but twice. And they would have to confess to him about the Marauder's Map.

"Do you know if anything is bothering Harry?"

...okay, _that_ one she hadn't expected.

"Other than the obvious, I should say," Dumbledore clarified. "We are all going through some troubled times, and Harry, once again, seems to be dragged into it. When I talked to him just now, and he informed me of your trip to Hagrid's, and what you had learned about Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew. Combined with the discovery of his Uncle, it's only natural that he would be troubled. And yet I got the feeling there was something more, something he either didn't want to, or felt he couldn't, share."

Ronnie immediately thought of the voice Harry had heard on and off, always before the attacks. He had chosen not to tell anyone outside Potter's Gang about it, and Ronnie had agreed with him; after all, hearing voices that nobody else could hear was never a good sign. Just as she was about to say something, however, she remembered something else. There _had_ been times when Harry looked like he wanted to tell her something but then apparently thought better of it.

The latest instance had been that very day, when he had come to show her the picture of the Marauders. He'd said there were two things he'd wanted to talk to her about, but they had never got around to the second thing because they'd got too caught up in the revelation that Wormtail was on the picture. He'd said he'd tell her about it later, but since then there just hadn't been any time for that.

She looked at the others. They seemed hesitant as well, so she ended up saying: "Er... not sure, sir. We could talk to him?"

"I would appreciate that," said Dumbledore. "It may be nothing of course. Then again, it may be something. I don't necessarily have to know about it, if he would rather I not. But I thought perhaps I should ask you, his friends. If there is something that is troubling Harry, he might appreciate a friendly ear or ten."

Ronnie nodded. "Where is Harry now, Professor? Do you know?"

"Certainly. Harry is in the hospital wing with his Uncle," said Dumbledore. "He asked to stay with him until curfew, and I saw no reason to deny his request."

Ginny looked like she was about to say something, but then apparently thought better of it, glancing at Dumbledore and turning slightly red.

"Please, Ginevra," said Dumbledore. "If you have something to say, feel free to say it. Sometimes, the old and wise have a great deal to learn from the young and inexperienced… especially if the young and experienced is speaking from the heart. Respect for one's teachers is of course vital, but time comes when protocol and etiquette must take a back seat. In short — for as long as you are here in my office, consider permission granted to speak as you will. That goes for all of you."

"Oh. Well." Ginny was still a little red. "I was just a little surprised that Harry would want to stay with his Uncle. No disrespect, sir, but _he_ wouldn't have done the same for Harry. Not on your life. "

"You didn't see the bloke, Ginny," said Ronnie. "He looked… awful." It was weird; if she wasn't to count Death Eaters or Malfoys, she would have had some problems thinking of two men she'd have cared less for than Gilderoy Lockhart and Vernon Dursley, but now that they were in the hospital wing, one Petrified and the other unconscious… well, she wasn't certain she felt _sorry_ for them, exactly, but still… she kind of got why Harry would want to stay with his Uncle at least for a little while.

"He did indeed look awful," said Dumbledore. "Whatever Vernon Dursley has done in his life — and I have no doubt his sins were numerous — it's clear that he has been through ordeals that I would not wish on my worst enemy. In fact, I had to talk to Harry about the possibility of having him transferred to St. Mungo's hospital."

"Is — is it that bad, sir?" said Neville, who had never met Vernon Dursley but still looked anxious on his behalf. "Is Mr. Dursley —?"

"He will live," said Dumbledore. "But I fear his mind has been rather addled by his ordeal. He slips in and out of consciousness, and when he is conscious it's impossible to get a coherent word out of him. He swings between begging for his wife's life and threatening to kill everyone around him unless they let her go. We have not been able to get out of him where he has been, who had him, or what happened to him and his wife. During his brief moments of lucidity, he does not even seem to recognise Harry. And first-rate Healer that Madam Pomfrey is, I fear Vernon Dursley needs more specialised care than she is able to give."

"So he's being taken to the Janus Thickey Ward," said Neville tonelessly. "Long-term spell damage."

"Is that where your parents —?" Hermione began, cutting herself off and looking down. "Neville, I'm sorry."

"It's all right," said Neville, though he looked rather uncomfortable. "Yeah, I know the ward. The Healers are nice enough. They'll take good care of Harry's Uncle." (Ronnie did notice that he said nothing about whether they would be able to _help_ Harry's Uncle or not, but then having his parents in that ward for eleven years probably wasn't much basis for optimism there.) "And I know they've had Muggle patients before. Muggles hit by some nasty curses, that sort of thing."

"There has been a precedent," said Dumbledore. "And I am confident the Healers at St. Mungo's will not turn away a patient in need, even with the current anti-Muggle prejudices."

_Even if it's the man who's responsible for them,_ Ronnie thought. _And apparently responsible for opening the Chamber of Secrets, whatever that is._ But she regretted the thought almost immediately after she'd had it. The Dursleys' treatment of Harry may have been what kicked off the new round of Muggle-hate among wizards and witches, but (as she was starting to realise) the Dursleys had not put anything into the mind of the wizarding world that hadn't already been there. Wizards in general… really didn't like Muggles.

As for the Chamber of Secrets? _Hah_. Whatever the person who had composed Vernon's message to Dumbledore had meant by that, clearly they were the sort to blame Muggles for absolutely everything rather than take some bloody responsibility themselves.

She didn't know if these thoughts had entered any of her friends. They certainly hadn't entered Colin, who at the moment seemed more concerned with his characteristic trait of looking on the bright side. "So he's going to be all right, isn't he? The Healers have all sorts of magic, they'll sort him out, and then you can ask him what happened to him! Actually," he added, looking at Dumbledore with some excitement, "I bet you already have a theory!"

Dumbledore smiled briefly at the boy's enthusiasm. "Several," he agreed. "But the problem with theories is that they are only worth so much if one has no evidence to back them up. On that note, there were a couple of things I had to discuss with Ronnie."

Ronnie blinked. "Er — yes, sir?"

"First of all," said Dumbledore, "I wanted to apologise for not being here when you and Harry came to call on me earlier."

"Oh. Yeah." Ronnie fidgeted. "Well, like you said, you're busy…"

"Indeed. But in this case I fear I was out on a fool's errand. You see, I had heard a rumour that a man up in Knockturn Alley had fresh Mandrake root for sale, and thought I owed it to Miss Brown and the ghosts to investigate personally."

Neville's eyes widened. "Did you —?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Alas, it truly was too good to be true. The so-called 'Mandrakes' turned out to be mere Transfigured rutabagas."

Neville's face fell.

"An impressive Transfiguration, to be certain," said Dumbledore, "but the results were quite useless for Restorative Draughts. And of course, when I returned, I discovered that even more Restorative Draught is now needed." He sighed. "Poor Gilderoy. He really is not cut out to be a teacher. It may be that I could have hindered what happened if I had been present at the time… but I suppose that is something we will never know. Would that things were different than they are…"

For a moment, there was a wistful look in his eyes. But then he seemed to return to normal. "But, there is no point in crying over spilled potion, is there." He turned his eyes back onto Ronnie. "I wanted to ask you if you are _absolutely certain_ that the man you saw in his office back in September was Peter Pettigrew?"

That was a surprise question if Ronnie had ever heard one. But — of course; Harry must have informed Dumbledore about the recent developments in the Wormtail case. Of course Dumbledore would want to know. She pictured the fat, watery-eyed little man in her mind. "Must've been," she said. "He looked like the boy in Harry's picture… older and losing his hair, but yeah. Same bloke."

"In that case," said Dumbledore, "would you allow me to view that memory?"

"You want to look inside my head?" Ronnie wasn't certain if she liked the idea.

"Not exactly," said Dumbledore. "Allow me to show you something." He pulled his wand out from his robes, and flicked it in the direction of the far wall. One of the cabinets — an impressive-looking black one — opened its door as a strange grey bowl or possibly a basin came flying out of it. The bowl sailed elegantly through the room, over their heads, and landed gently on Dumbledore's desk, without touching Fawkes or Crookshanks in the process.

Everyone looked at the bowl as it came to a rest. It was rather shallow and made of some kind of stone, and all around its edge weird runes and symbols were carved in.

"I have a cereal bowl back home that looks kind of like that!" said Colin, clearly unable to keep quiet any longer, despite harsh looks from Ginny and Hermione.

Dumbledore just chuckled. "Doubtless it could be used as one, in the unlikely event that the kitchen should ever run out of crockery — though the Headmasters of old would probably be appalled at the idea." (And indeed, several of the portraits looked shocked at the suggestion.) "This is a Pensieve. The oldest one still in existence, in fact. Legend has it that the four Founders of Hogwarts found it half-buried in the ground on the very spot they had decided to erect the school."

"Oh!" said Hermione. "I read about that in _Hogwarts: A History!_ The Hogwarts Pensieve has been used to preserve memories and experiences of Headmasters and Headmistresses for centuries back!"

"Accurate as always, Hermione," said Dumbledore. "Observe." He raised his wand and placed its tip to his temple.

Everyone, even Crookshanks and Fawkes, watched as he slowly pulled the wand away, and with it came a long, thin strand of a glistening, silvery-white substance. At first it seemed almost like he was pulling out a strand of his hair, which of course was long and had the same silvery colour — but as the wand pulled the strand free of his head, they could see that it wasn't quite substantial, almost like it was the ghost of a strand of hair.

Dumbledore carefully moved his wand over to the stone bowl and let the strand fall down into it. Immediately it melted together and gathered like a glistening little pool of not-quite-liquid.

"That's a memory?" said Colin, looking about twice as awed as any of them.

"Indeed," said Dumbledore. "A very recent one, in fact. I had a little talk with Professor Flamel just after my return from Knockturn Alley."

He prodded the liquid-like substance with his wand, and almost immediately, a figure rose up from it, growing until, plain as day, the ghostly image of Professor Flamel was standing right there, his feet still in the bowl. He began to revolve slowly while looking straight ahead, ignoring all of them.

_"Yes, Albus,"_ said Flamel, his voice distant and echoing as if he was speaking from the bottom of a well. _"It was plain to see that Monsieur Dursley was under the Imperius at the time, though he was trying to fight it. I could not, however, tell who had placed the curse on him or how long he had been under it, and the curse was broken as soon as he had delivered that message."_

Crookshanks had raised himself and was looking at the figure, trying to sniff at it. Apparently the memory didn't have the right smell, because he raised his paw to bat testingly at Flamel. The paw passed harmlessly through the figure, and seconds later Flamel shimmered and shrank back down into the Pensieve, causing Crookshanks to back off in surprise.

Fawkes, clearly more used to this sort of thing, just gave Crookshanks an amused look, as Ronnie reached out and picked the cat up to hold in her arms.

"As you can see," said Dumbledore, "the Pensieve can recreate memories to perfection, replicating details we ourselves did not even notice on the first time, even revealing information we never knew we possessed. If we needed to, we could even enter the memory and re-live the situation exactly as it took place."

"Harry's Uncle was under the Imperius, sir?" said Neville, who had gone a little pale. "I mean, yes, it would make sense that he was… but Professor Flamel sounded like he was absolutely certain."

"That is one of Professor Flamel's many talents," said Dumbledore. "After more than six hundred years as a wizard, he has developed a certain knack for spotting whether someone is currently under a curse or not, at least if he gets close enough to them. I believe he says it's something about their eyes."

"All right," said Ronnie, eager to get the discussion away from the Imperius _(Don't think about the Imperius!)_ and holding her cat close. "So you can store your memories in that thing! And you want to put mine in there too?"

"Only if you will allow it," said Dumbledore. "I realise that memories and thoughts are very personal things, and one does not always wish for others to sort through them… Indeed, when I was a student here, I would have been quite horrified to have my old Headmaster viewing my memories, so I shall not think less of you if you decline. But it _would_ be an advantage if I got to see your memory of Peter Pettigrew for myself."

"Couldn't you take Harry's Uncle's memories?" said Colin. "Then you could see for yourself where he was and who had him!"

"Alas," said Dumbledore. "Thoughts and memories are tricky things. The Pensieve can in theory receive and display anyone's memories, but _reliable_ memories require a consenting and cooperating participant. At the moment, Vernon Dursley is capable of neither consent nor cooperation."

"Okay," said Ronnie, taking comfort in the bird on her shoulder and the cat in her arms. "I'll do it. It — it doesn't hurt, does it?"

"Not in the least," Dumbledore assured her. "Thank you, Ronnie. Focus on your mind on the memory of Peter Pettigrew, please."

Ronnie closed her eyes and focused, once again picturing the form of Wormtail (she still couldn't think of him as anything other than "Wormtail") such as she had seen him in Lockhart's office.

"Are you concentrating on the memory?" said Dumbledore's voice.

"Yes."

Ronnie felt the light pressure of a wand tip on her temple, and then the image of Wormtail faded as if it was being sucked out of her head. She opened her eyes just in time to see the long silvery thread that was her memory being pulled away, attached to Dumbledore's wand. Where Dumbledore's message had just been a short, thin thread, this one was thicker and longer, and tingled slightly as it was pulled out of her head.

Crookshanks followed the memory strand with his eyes. For a moment he looked like he wanted to bat at the memory with his paw, but apparently he thought better of it.

Once more, Dumbledore added the memory to the Pensieve, and once more it melted into a liquid substance, pooling together with the other memory in the basin. This time, however, the amount of liquid substance was notably larger; this time the memory filled up nearly a third of the Pensieve. Either it was bigger and more detailed than Dumbledore's, or Ronnie's memories just took up more space.

For a moment Ronnie wondered if the two memories in the Pensieve would get mixed up and perhaps create a kind of Wormtail-Flamel hybrid — but this thought vanish almost as soon as it had arrived, because now Dumbledore placed his wand down and placed his hand on either side of the Pensieve, swirling it around.

The surface of the pool shimmered and went from silvery-white to an image of Wormtail, just as she had seen him in Flamel's office, shaky and twitchy and watery-eyed. Surprisingly, now that she saw him again he didn't look _quite_ as she remembered him. Somehow in her mind she had pictured him as a much older man, but no — despite the fact that he was clearly losing his hair he had to be younger than Dad. But it was the same bloke; that posture and those eyes were unmistakable.

It got a little crowded around the Pensieve as everyone leaned in to get a better look, but the image was clear and sharp: Wormtail was standing in Lockhart's seemingly-empty office, looking nervously around himself before he seemed to relax a little and cautiously moving backwards towards Lockhart's large, stuffed chair.

_"Nobody's there,"_ he murmured as he slid down into the chair, his voice as distant and echoing as Flamel had been, but that high-pitched squeak was still unmistakable. _"Get a grip on yourself, Wormtail. Nobody knows. Nobody suspects anything."_

As he moved slightly, the image rippled and vanished, the pool of thought going calm and silvery-white once more.

Ronnie gave a start. Just as Wormtail had faded away she'd got a good look at his right hand — and this time she clearly saw what she had missed back then: the index finger was missing!

Dumbledore looked up. His eyes were grave behind his half-moon spectacles. "Forgive me, Ronnie," he said. "When I first heard your claim to have seen Peter Pettigrew, I thought you must be mistaken. It has been more than a decade since anyone last saw that man alive, and for him to suddenly show up here at Hogwarts… it seemed unlikely, not to say impossible. But, that was indeed the man.

"And he was missing a finger," said Ronnie, feeling strangely vindicated that for once one of her own theories seemed to be proving right. "That pretty much _proves_ he faked his death back then, doesn't it? If all they found back then was his finger —"

"— then we just found the rest of him!" Colin cheered, as if he'd been there in Lockhart's office.

"So he cut off his finger and then pretended that the rest of him had blown up along with those Muggles?" said Ginny dubiously.

"But why?" said Neville. "Why would he do a thing like that? If the man who was after him was caught the same day? That doesn't make any sense!"

"Indeed it does not," said Dumbledore. "Nor does it answer where he has been all this time." He frowned. "I believe we need to look more closely at this memory. Ronnie, with your permission?"

"Er, okay."

"Excellent. Follow my lead." Dumbledore pocketed his wand and then leaned over the Pensieve.

As his head went down into the bowl there was a curious swooshing sound, and Dumbledore vanished.

Neville and Hermione gasped. Colin let out a slight yelp of surprise. Crookshanks backed away from the Pensieve, eyeing it suspiciously. Only Fawkes took it calmly; he just looked over at the Pensieve with a mild interest, as if he saw this sort of thing all the time.

"Where'd he go?" said Colin after a few moments.

"I think he went into the memory," said Ginny, sounding impressed. "I didn't know you could do that."

"Pensieves allow you to enter a memory and view it from within, as if it was happening around you," said Hermione, clearly quoting some book or other. "Should we…"

"He did say to follow him," said Ginny. She stepped up to the Pensieve, took a deep breath and plunged her head down into the basin. Again, there was a slight swooshing sound, and Ginny was gone.

Ronnie leaned over the Pensive. She peered down into the silvery not-quite-liquid to see if she could spot Ginny or Dumbledore swimming around in it, but there was no sight of them.

"Right," she said. "Ginny did it, so…" And, ignoring Hermione's outcry behind her, she followed her sister's example by taking a deep breath and plunged her head down into the memory.

Dumbledore's office lurched and tilted, and she found herself thrown forward and pitched headfirst into something surprisingly cold and dark. For the second time in less than an hour she found herself whirling and falling through nothing — though where Apparating with Fawkes had felt like burning up, entering the Pensieve felt more like falling into icy water.

Then, with a heaving breath, she came to a stop. She was standing on a solid floor, and Ginny and Dumbledore were right there next to her.

"Hi, Ron," said Ginny. "Nice place Lockhart's got here. Your descriptions didn't do it justice."

They were standing in Lockhart's office. It looked exactly like it had on that day when Ronnie had entered it under Harry's Invisibility Cloak, with its dozens of flickering candles, its multiple mirrors and over-saturation of Lockhart-centric posters, photographs and paintings. There in the small cage just by the door were the two grey rats that Ronnie now was almost completely certain were Harry's Transfigured Aunt and Uncle, and there, in the chair by the fireplace was Wormtail, who seemed to be asleep and paid no heed to the three newcomers in the room.

If it hadn't been for that detail, Ronnie could have sworn they were actually in Lockhart's real office. It looked real, it _felt_ real. She could even hear the soft crackling of the fire in the fireplace and smell the faint hint of expensive hair-care products. And the missing finger on Wormtail's right hand was now so glaringly obvious that Ronnie wondered how she hadn't seen it the first time she'd laid eyes on the man.

"This is my memory?" she said in awe, looking at Dumbledore. "But it's so real — so _detailed —"_

Just then, she was interrupted as Colin landed beside her, and then was in short succession joined by Neville and Hermione. All of them were looking about themselves in fascination, looking about as overwhelmed after their icy-cold trip as Ronnie guessed she must have.

"How many people can you get into one memory?" said Ginny.

"I do seem to recall that the highest number of people ever to view the same memory at the same time was forty-two," said Dumbledore. "That was in the late fifteenth century, shortly before the establishing of the Statute of Secrecy. If someone has broken that record, I haven't heard about —"

He cut himself off as the door by the rat cage suddenly opened, causing the rats to turn and let out some squeaking noises, and Wormtail to jump out of his chair with a panicked look, pulling a shabby-looking wand from his pocket.

The small man stared right through Dumbledore and Potter's Gang, not acknowledging them with so much as a glance, panic turning to relief when he saw Gilderoy Lockhart enter.

"Here he comes," said Ginny.

"Where are you, Ronnie?" said Colin.

"Following under Harry's Cloak," said Ronnie. She strained to try and catch a glimpse of her past self, but it seemed the Invisibility Cloak was as effective in this memory as it was in real life — she couldn't see so much of a hint of any Veronica Weasley.

Wormtail, of course, ignored the exchange. He just lowered his wand and looked at Lockhart. "Gilderoy," he said. "You startled me. I thought it was — no, never mind." His voice sounded completely normal now; there was no trace of the echoing tone that he'd had when they had just seen him as an image reflected in the Pensieve.

"Dreadfully sorry," said Lockhart, in that flourishing tone Ronnie knew and loathed. "But I have to warn you that you had better change. I've got young Harry Potter coming here for a chat."

Wormtail reacted with more fear than Ronnie remembered. "Harry... P-Potter? No. Oh, no. Not him. Not Harry Potter. He can't see me. He'll know."

"But he doesn't have to see you," said Lockhart. "You can just —"

"I said _no!"_ Wormtail screamed. "He can't see me in _any_ form! You'll just have to go out and — and tell him you can't talk right now!"

"Me, tell _Harry Potter_ I don't have time for him, when he's specifically sought out my advice?" Lockhart looked at Wormtail… and for a moment Ronnie thought she could see a trace of that weird look in his eyes that Luna had talked about earlier — but it was over so fast that she wasn't sure she hadn't imagined it _._

"Fine, fine, just don't talk to him _here,"_ said Wormtail. "Take him somewhere else! Anywhere else! Just, just not here, not where..." he made vague motions with his wand towards the door.

They all watched as Lockhart exited with yet more pompous self-glorifications, and Wormtail looked around himself with nervous eyes. Ronnie knew that somewhere in this room was her past self, hidden from sight, but she had no idea where — she couldn't remember at all where she had been standing at the time and she really couldn't see anything.

Hermione was frowning. "That was an interesting conversation," she murmured, as Wormtail stared right at her without seeing her.

"Nobody's there," he murmured as he retracted to the chair and slid back down into it. "Get a grip on yourself, Wormtail. Nobody knows. Nobody suspects anything."

He remained seated there without moving.

"What did Lockhart mean by 'change'?" said Ginny. "And that part about _'any form'_? D'you think —" she paused.

"D'you think he's one of those Animaguses?! I mean, Animagi?" said Colin eagerly. "If he can turn into an animal, he wouldn't have any problems disguising himself, would he!"

"I know he wasn't on the list over registered Animagi," said Hermione. "Could he —" she looked at Dumbledore. "Could he be an _un_ registered one?"

"I suppose it is possible," said Dumbledore. "Though becoming an Animagus is extremely difficult and requires years of hard work, especially if you do it in secret. I would not have credited the Peter Pettigrew I knew with the talent or the determination to manage… then again, I would not have thought he would fake his own death, either. Clearly, I didn't know the man as well as I thought."

"But if he's an Animagus," said Neville, "he could be _any_ animal, couldn't he? That means he could hide anywhere. How are we supposed to find him then?"

"We can guess what animal he turns into!" said Colin. "It's all about what you're like on the inside, right? He's all nervous and stuff, so… he could be a jellyfish!"

"A jellyfish," said Ginny dryly.

"Yeah, or a chicken!"

"Hmm." Dumbledore was still examining Wormtail, his eyebrows raising in surprise as the little man suddenly jerked a little and was starting to sob.

It was an even more sad and pitiful sight than Ronnie remembered. Wormtail was crying silently, large tears falling down his cheeks as his shoulders shook.

"Maybe he's a weeping willow!" said Colin, Official Purveyor of Weird Ideas. "Is there such a thing as a Plantmagus?"

"God, I hope not." Neville murmured. "I _enjoy_ Herbology."

From the other end of the room, the caged rats had started to make quite a bit of noise; they were squeaking and running around their cage — no doubt reacting to the invisible presence of past-Ronnie. How much of their human brains had Harry's Aunt and Uncle kept in this form, Ronnie wondered; had they when smelling someone new sensed a potential rescuer? For that matter, did Wormtail know that Lockhart was keeping Transfigured humans as pets, or did he just think they were normal rats?

No, she decided — he must know. When he swallowed his tears and looked up and towards the cage, he spoke as if to fellow humans: "What is it now? Going stir-crazy again? Well, chin up. That cage is quite big enough. I should know."

"He should know," said Hermione. "But wouldn't that mean —"

"Who's there?" Wormtail suddenly demanded, and in one swift motion he had raised from his chair and pulled out his tatty-looking wand, which he was now pointing straight at Hermione.

Hermione gave a start, but then all of a sudden one of the Lockhart posters on the wall was torn from its hanging place by an invisible force, accompanied by the unmistakable mad cackle of Peeves the Poltergeist — or, more accurately, of past-Ronnie imitating Peeves. "Lockhart looks better on the floor!"

Ronnie knew this would sound conceited if she ever said it out loud, but she was actually rather impressed with herself. That voice _had_ sounded a lot like Peeves's; no wonder Wormtail exclaimed _"Peeves!"_ and looked around in wild panic as one of the piles of Lockhart books was knocked over and fell to the floor in a pile.

Moments, later, the door to the office opened, and the wildly cackling 'Peeves' made 'his' escape.

"Peeves!" Wormtail called wildly. "Come back here! I can explain —!"

And then everything froze as the door slammed shut. Wormtail stood like a frozen statue, the two rats had stiffened; even the fire in the fireplace had stopped moving and was still like one of those non-moving Muggle pictures.

"Well," said Dumbledore, looking around at the frozen surroundings, which were starting to fade and growing darker. "I believe that concludes the memory. Most interesting viewing. It answers a lot of questions… and raises quite a few more." Then he smiled at Ronnie — or at least it looked like he smiled; with the darkness that was falling it was getting hard to see. "By the way, allow me to compliment you on your most convincing Peeves imitation. I believe it's one of the better ones I have heard."

"Er — thank you." It was almost pitch-black now.

"No reason for us to stand around in the darkness. Shall we?"

Ronnie felt someone tug on her arm, and then she was being pulled upwards, if a great wind was lifting her up off the ground. She shot upwards, once more feeling an icy-cold sensation around her before —

She landed on the floor in Dumbledore's office. They were all standing around the Headmaster's desk, the Pensieve in the centre, and everything was back to how it had been before their trip down Memory Lane.

Crookshanks, who looked like he had been circling around the Pensieve like a cat around a bowl of hot porridge, turned and let out a happy "Meow!" as he leaped from the Headmaster's desk and into Ronnie's arms, where he began nuzzling his head against her and purring up a storm.

"Oh," said Ronnie, beginning to pet him. "Were you worried about us? It's all right, Crookshanks, we were just viewing some old memories."

Colin nodded. "That was so cool!" he said; this seemed well on its way to becoming his catch-phrase.

"It was certainly enlightening," said Dumbledore, as Fawkes flapped his wings and took off to settle on the Headmaster's shoulder again, and be stroked by a long, thin finger.

"Was it really accurate?" said Ronnie. "I don't remember half of all that."

"Quite the contrary. You _do_ remember it, otherwise it would not have showed up in the Pensieve." Dumbledore nodded at the silvery substance in the basin. "We still don't know one-hundredth of what there is to know about the human mind. But what we do know is that nothing we experience is ever _truly_ forgotten or ignored. Our minds register and take in everything, in greater detail than we are even aware of. Hence, when a properly-extracted memory is displayed in the Pensieve, it will show things not as you think you remember them, and not even as you experienced and interpreted them at the time — but as they truly were. It can be quite a shock."

"I wasn't _shocked,"_ Ronnie murmured.

"Perhaps you were not," said Dumbledore, "but I will readily admit that I was."

Ronnie blinked. She had never seen anyone look _less_ shocked than Dumbledore did.

"Seeing that memory," Dumbledore said, "has forced me to re-think most of my previous theories considering the Petrifications and Voldemort's diary. Not to mention… quite a few things I had previously taken for granted, and have thought of as fact for over a decade, must now be taken up to new consideration. Peter Pettigrew is alive… and has been in hiding for eleven years. Why does he show up at Hogwarts now? And why did he—?" His eyes suddenly widened. "Of course. Of _course_. That must be the answer."

"Er— what must?" said Neville, somewhat timidly.

But Dumbledore didn't appear to have heard. There was an expression of silent amazement on his face, an expression that — if he had been anyone other than Albus Dumbledore — Ronnie would have called complete shock. "Such a _simple_ explanation," he murmured. "So simple, so obvious that no-one ever thought of it. But it explains so much."

Then, he seemed to snap out of it, and turned to look at them all. "Children," he said. "I just had a very alarming thought. If I am correct, it means that an innocent man has been subject to the most horrible torture for eleven years." He looked at Ronnie through his spectacles. "May I borrow your memory for a while? I shall of course return it to you as soon as I can."

"Well, I wasn't using it for anything anyway," Ronnie heard herself say, and then found it necessary to add: "Er — what do you want with it, Professor?"

"First of all, I need to view it again, to examine a few details a little closer," said Dumbledore. "Then, I want to take it to Remus Lupin to show him."

"Lupin?"

"He was one of Peter Pettigrew's closest friends at Hogwarts," said Dumbledore. "I think he needs to see this."

Ronnie wasn't certain she wanted just anyone to poke through her memory — but if it was only of her initial encounter with Wormtail, perhaps it wasn't too bad. It wasn't like she'd been doing anything too private. And while had never met Mr. Lupin, the letters Harry had shown her made him seem like a decent bloke… so she finally nodded. "That makes sense. Lupin's all right."

"Thank you," said Dumbledore again. He stroked his long beard as he looked at them all. "I think," he said, "that it is imperative that Peter Pettigrew is found as soon as possible. I do not know where he has been hiding for the past eleven years, but I am almost completely convinced that right now, he is hiding somewhere on Hogwarts grounds. And unless I am much mistaken, he is the key to all the mysteries."

"Do you really think he is an Animagus?" said Colin.

"It is a distinct possibility, but I think we can go a little further than that," said Dumbledore. "If you remember, he did not want Harry to see him in, to use his own words, _'any form.'_ That implies that whatever other form he has, it's one that Harry would recognise."

"So if he _is_ an Animagus…" said Neville slowly. "…he would be an animal that Harry knows."

"And he talked about cages as if he was used to being in one," said Hermione.

"An animal Harry knows that spends time in cages," said Ronnie. And then she gasped. _"He's Hedwig!"_

There was a silence as everyone — even Fawkes and Crookshanks — looked at her.

"Well, think about it!" said Ronnie. "We've never seen the two together, and Harry would recognise Hedwig anywhere, and Hedwig has spent an awful lot of time in a cage because Harry's Uncle didn't want an owl flying loose. Say Wormt—I mean, Pettigrew, say he faked his death and then lived a decade as an owl, just to end up in Eeylops Owl Emporium, where he was bought by Hagrid and given as a pet to Harry!"

Crookshanks reached up and bopped her nose with a paw, and then gave her a scathing look that better than words told her what an idiot he thought she was being.

"It's not _that_ stupid," Ronnie defended herself, feeling herself turning pink again over being told off by her cat.

"Ron," said Ginny dryly. "Hedwig's a _female_ owl. Pettigrew's a _man."_

"So? Why can't someone's inner animal be the opposite sex? Don't tell me you've forgotten about cousin Jackie!"

"Cousin Jackie's not an Animagus!"

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "It's certainly an interesting theory," he said diplomatically. "I would not mention it to Harry until I was certain about it, however." He paused, and then once more took his wand out from his robes, holding it thoughtfully in his hand. "On that subject… perhaps there are a couple of spells I should tell you about. They are a little advanced, so you you might not be able to perform them straight away… but even knowing that they _exist_ might be of some help."

Hermione beamed with the intense interest she always got when it looked like she might learn something new.

"Now," said Dumbledore. "Do stop me if you already know this one…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter. THIS CHAPTER. Has any other chapter of this story given me quite as much trouble? Four complete rewrites, countless minor rewrites, and so much rejected material that it would have been twice as long — and this is already the longest chapter of the story, beating out chapter eleven by a few hundred words. Not to mention, it's the first chapter without a single scene break, and the first chapter in which Harry doesn't have a speaking role. (He is in one of the rejected bits, which might be used in altered form in the next chapter.)
> 
> Come to think of it, the chapter of the original Weasley Girl story that gave me the most grief was also the one that ended up being mostly about Potter's Gang in Dumbledore's office, after an unsettling plot development. It seems like I just can't avoid "Dumbledore's office" chapters in this series but am exceedingly bad at writing them.
> 
> It did, however, give me the opportunity to spend a little more time with Neville, Hermione, Ginny and Colin, who have been absent for one and a half chapters. Since Harry is most closely tied to the plot and Ronnie is the POV character, there is a bit of a risk that those two get to dominate the story too completely — but I do try to give everyone at least some time in the limelight.
> 
> It also, finally, gave me the opportunity to write the meeting between the two coolest animal characters in the franchise: Fawkes and Crookshanks. I don't think the two ever meet in canon, and it's not that common to see them in the same scene in fanfics either. With how Ronnie bonded with Fawkes in the previous fic, however, a meeting between the two was inevitable.
> 
> Finally, two trivia notes:
> 
> It didn't come up in the chapter itself because there was no reason for Dumbledore to divulge that particular information, but the man who sold fake Mandrakes in Knockturn Alley was Mundungus Fletcher. If you remember way back in Chapter Two, Arthur commented that he had put the pursuit of Mundungus on hold because he'd just been told of his daughters' unofficial car ride. In canon, of course, Arthur did confront Mundungus (who tried to hex him while his back was turned) and managed to take him in — but in this universe, since Arthur blew off the night's ninth raid, Mundungus evaded capture, lay low for a while and at this time is back trying to make a quick Galleon by selling shoddy goods.
> 
> Oh, and if you've read "Hermione Granger's Guide to Gender-Flip Fanfiction," you might recognise the "cousin Jackie" that Ronnie references: Jacqueline "Jack" Weasley was briefly mentioned in that fic as the Weasleys' male-to-female transgender cousin. She's specifically mentioned to be a non-canon character in that story, and probably won't actually appear in this story — but I thought I'd give her a brief mention here, explaining how Ronnie can be so certain that an Animagus's 'inner animal' can be of a different sex.


	15. All Right, Let's Talk About the Imperius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again! Hope you all had a good Summer!
> 
> We're definitely heading towards the endgame for this story, and I notice that, just like last time, the climax of the story takes place in December. I swear this wasn't intentional on my part; yes, the canon books did have a deliberate pattern with the climax happening in June (the exception being Deathly Hallows, with the Battle of Hogwarts taking place in early May) but I honestly was not aiming for a similar pattern with December. It's just that the way the story has gone, developments were quicker and there's a limit to how long you can drag them out before it gets too far-fetched.
> 
> There'll be at least a couple more chapters and an epilogue, so my original estimate of this story being "somewhere between sixteen and twenty chapters" seems to have been accurate.

It was just past eight o'clock by the time they left Dumbledore's office and began making their way through the corridors. The sun had gone down and the outside sky was heavily overcast; no moon or stars shone in through the windows and all light was provided by the flickering torches on the walls.

Everything was quiet, or at least as quiet as it ever got in a place like Hogwarts. A few scattered footsteps about as students hurried to their common rooms, Prefects beginning to go on their rounds, maybe Filch searching for messes he could blame on students — but no huge groups of students rushing about and chattering about homework or about who fancied who, no explosions caused by Fred and George's latest pranks (with the common follow-up of teachers yelling "Detention!" or "Twenty points from Gryffindor!").

It all made the _smaller_ sounds of Hogwarts come forth much more clearly: The silent crackling of burning magical torches, the occasional muffled hiss of the plumbing, the icy December wind rattling the windows, the mutterings of portraits either talking in their sleep or chatting with one another.

Usually, Ronnie liked walking through the corridors on nights like this; even though it was cold (and none of them had brought their cloaks) there was something nice and peaceful about the darkened hallways and the way the torches made the long shadows dance and move.

Right now, however, it felt eerie — the underlying thought that somewhere in this castle there might be an unregistered Animagus with unknown motives and goals, and someone who keeps Petrifying people, would probably make any place feel a little creepy. And the sneaking suspicion that the mysterious Animagus and the unknown Petrifyer might be one and the same doesn't help matters at all.

It did help a little that Crookshanks was walking up front, with the utmost confidence — and that Fawkes was probably somewhere close by. (The phoenix had not accompanied them from Dumbledore's office, but Ronnie was confident he would be there if they needed him.)

Still, walking along like this and just listening to the eerie almost-silence was a little unnerving.

"All right," she said, deciding to voice her thoughts to distract herself from the silence. "New theory!"

The others glanced at her. Only Colin looked eager to hear the theory; Ginny and Hermione looked less than enthusiastic and Neville almost seemed like he hadn't heard.

Ronnie ignored the lack of enthusiasm from three-quarters of her audience. "You know that voice Harry keeps hearing right before we find people being Petrified? The voice that nobody else hears? I think that's Wormtail!"

"Pettigrew?" Hermione didn't look convinced. "He didn't seem like the type to talk about tearing people apart."

"There were a lot of types he didn't seem like," said Ronnie, a sentence that sounded a lot more sensible in her head than when said out loud. Before anyone could comment on that, she hurried to say: "Dumbledore said he didn't seem like the type to fake his own death, but I think we can say it's proved he did, wouldn't you?"

"It does look like it," Hermione agreed. "The question is why."

"Because the little pink Nargles told him to, maybe," Ginny muttered.

"There are pink Nargles?" gasped Colin. "Hermione, I thought you said Nargles didn't exist!"

"No, I meant maybe he was just mad. You know, seeing Nargles and — never mind." Ginny sighed. "The big question is, if it _is_ Wormtail, come only Harry can hear him, while the rest of us can't? You have to admit that's odd."

"That part's odd whether it's Pettigrew or not," said Hermione. "Because I think it's pretty clear at this point that there _is_ a voice and not just Harry's imagination. There's something about Harry that gives him the ability to hear it. Like —" she paused, her eyes widening. "I think I've got it."

"What?" said Ronnie.

"Remember last year, when his scar would occasionally hurt?" said Hermione. "And it turned out that it was reacting to the presence of Voldemort?"

"Yes?"

"I'm starting to wonder if we're not seeing a variant of the same thing. Once more, Harry's able to sense something that we can't! It might be connected!"

"Are you saying that Harry's _scar_ makes him hear voices?" said Ginny.

"Well, why not?" said Hermione, a tad defensively. "It's clear that _something_ odd's going on with Harry's scar." She frowned. "Too bad the library's closed by now; I would have liked to look up curse scars and see if it's common for them to act strange."

"You think maybe that was what Dumbledore noticed?" said Ginny. "You know, when he said something was bothering Harry?"

"Why don't we just ask Harry?" said Ronnie. "Shouldn't be too hard to find him. He's either still at the hospital wing with his Uncle, or he's gone back to the common room."

"We could go up to the Owlery!" said Colin. When everyone turned to look at him, he added: "If Wormtail really _is_ Hedwig, that's worth checking it out, isn't it? And if he isn't, there are still a lot of other owls there he _could_ be."

"That's good too!" said Ginny. "Hermione, do you remember that spell Dumbledore showed us?"

"I think I could do it," said Hermione dubiously. "But let's be at least _somewhat_ realistic here. I can't cast it on every single owl in the Owlery. We'd be there all night!"

"All right, but other than a bit of time, what have we got to lose by trying?" said Ginny. "Up until just now, we didn't have a single lousy plan — now we have _two_ lousy plans! That's progress!"

"There's not really a whole lot to go on," said Hermione slowly, "but in that case, we have _three_ lousy plans." She motioned towards Crookshanks, who was watching them all with mild interest. "We still haven't done the _Animaloqui."_

"Even better!" said Ginny. "What do you think, Neville?"

Neville, who hadn't said anything since they left Dumbledore's office, gave a start. "What?" he said, blinking. "Oh. Er, sorry. What was that?"

"Are you okay?" said Ronnie. "You looked like you were miles away."

Neville gave them all a sheepish half-smile. "Sorry. I was just trying to remember something."

"Remember what?" said Colin curiously.

Neville shook his head. "That's just it — I can't remember. Sorry," he added with a slight murmur, "you know my memory's not very good."

"That's rubbish!" Hermione suddenly said. "You have a _great_ memory!"

It was quite possible that nobody had ever told Neville anything like this before, because he just stopped and gaped at her.

Even Ronnie was a little perplexed; Neville was a great guy, but she'd never met anyone who so consequently forgot names and passwords, or even whether he had done his homework for the day or not.

"Don't believe me? I'll prove it!" said Hermione. "Neville, how long does it take for a Puffapod seed to bloom?"

"Er — no time at all," said Neville. "It blooms the moment it comes into contact with anything solid."

"What's a _Mimbulus Mimbletonia?"_

"It's a sort of cactus-like plant from Assyria, isn't it? It's really rare, I don't even think the greenhouses here have any. Why?"

"And speaking of the greenhouses, how many different kinds of plants are there in Greenhouse Three?"

"Three hundred and forty-two. Er, three hundred and forty- _three_ if you count the Spiky Bushes and the Spiky Prickly Plants as two separate kinds."

"See?" said Hermione. "I've had Herbology with you in that same greenhouse all year, and _I_ didn't know that last one!" ( _Sure you didn't,_ Ronnie thought, but didn't say it out loud.) "When it comes to these things, you remember _everything!"_

"Oh." Neville fidgeted a little, as if uncertain how to handle the compliment. "But that's just _plants,_ that's _easy_. It's not like it's anything import—"

"Don't you _dare_ say it's not important!" Hermione snapped. "When Lavender is revived from her Petrification thanks to Mandrakes, you can ask her how _important_ she thinks plants are!"

"She's got a point, you know," said Ronnie. "It's like Dumbledore said, we remember more than we think we do. Like how the Pensieve showed that I remembered more about Wormtail than I thought."

"But I don't have a Pensieve to help me remember," said Neville. "All I have is a Remembrall, and all _that_ does is turn red when I've forgotten something. And I already _know_ I've forgotten something, I just don't know _what_ I've forgotten."

"Pretend it's a plant, maybe that'll help!" said Colin.

Neville shook his head. "It's not a plant, it's…" He blinked, and then for some reason cast an anxious glance at Ronnie. "Actually, it's probably nothing important. Forget I said anything."

"After you got us all worked up about it? Not a chance!" said Ronnie, placing her hands on her hips. "Go on, Neville. What is it?"

Neville fidgeted. "Actually," he said, refusing to look her in the eye, "It was about the Imperius."

"Oh." Ronnie swallowed. For a brief moment she wondered if the others could hear how her heart suddenly began beating louder than before, but she forced herself to calm down. _Don't think about the Imperius!_ "You're right, let's not talk about that!"

"Why?" said Colin, looking from Neville to Ronnie and clearly wondering what he was missing. "What's about the Imperius?"

"It's nothing!" said Ronnie, in as convincing a tone as she could manage. "We can't be standing around here all evening, we've got two — _three_ plans to pull off, or leads to follow, whatever, and then we've got a common room to get back to! Percy's probably livid by now, and it'll be curfew soon, and —"

"What's wrong?" said Colin, never one to take a hint. "You've gone all pink again."

"Nothing's wrong! Can't a girl be pink if she wants to?!"

Hermione's expression had changed to one of concern mixed with exasperation. "Ronnie," she said. "When we talked about this back in September, you _promised_ me you would think about talking to someone."

Ronnie swallowed. She'd hoped against hope that Hermione had forgotten. "I did think about it. And I decided I didn't want to talk to anyone."

"Well, you can't continue like this," said Hermione. "I've given you time to deal with it, but you're not getting any better. I told you, repressing like this isn't healthy."

"How about you let me worry about my own health, Hermione, and start thinking more about your own —" (Ronnie paused as she struggled to think of a problem Hermione had.) "— poor taste in Defence teachers."

But Hermione didn't take the bait. "It's been a _year_ , Ronnie. I know it was a traumatic experience for you, but you can't keep avoiding the subject it like this."

Ronnie exploded _. "I don't want to talk about the fucking Imperius, okay?!"_

Hermione actually took a step back at that. "Ronnie —" she began.

 _"No!"_ Ronnie could hear that her voice was in danger of turning shrill again. She hid it as best as she could by clearing her throat and continued in what she hoped was a calm, measured tone: "You guys go up to the Owlery and, and on your way there you can talk about that stupid curse all you like, all right? _I'm_ going to the hospital wing to get Harry!"

"You can't go off alone!" Hermione protested.

"I won't be alone; I'll take Crookshanks! And I'm still wearing my Warning Fang, anyway! C'mon, Crookshanks!"

With that, Ronnie turned on her heels and ran as fast as she could towards the stairs, not giving Hermione or the others any time to protest, or to point out that the Warning Fang really wasn't as useful as it should be.

* * *

She stopped to catch her breath on the ground floor. Leaning against a wall, she let herself pant heavily and feel her heart was pounding in her chest — much harder than it otherwise would from a little running.

Crookshanks, who had been following her all the while and didn't look the least bit tired, rubbed himself comfortingly against her ankles, just where her too-short robes were baring them. She gently crouched down to scoop the cat up in her arms.

Slowly, stroking Crookshanks's soft fur, she calmed down again.

What was _wrong_ with her?

It _had_ been almost a year. A year since Quirrell had pointed his wand at her, and —

_No. Don't think about it._

But the memory was still there, as clear as if she'd been viewing it in the Pensieve. Hermione was right that Ronnie had been doing her best to repress it. Sometimes it seemed like she'd managed to; days or even weeks could pass without her thinking about the Imperius at all, and then suddenly someone would say something, or something would happen that reminded her of it, and she would remember —

"Mrrow!" said Crookshanks in her arms. Ronnie lifted her head to look at him, seeing that he was looking pointedly towards the stairs.

And now she could hear it too, the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the stairs, accompanied by a familiar puffing that clued her in to who was coming long before his familiar figure emerged from the shadows.

"Neville?" she said.

Neville came to a stop next to her, red-faced and puffing. He'd never been an athlete; he had always been the slowest member of Potter's Gang — and now, as he stopped he had to stand and heave for his breath for a little while before he could speak.

"Didn't you go up to the Owlery?" said Ronnie. "Did something happen?"

"No," Neville breathed. "It's fine." He swallowed and looked at her. "Hermione, Colin and Ginny went, but — Look — I just wanted to day — I'm sorry."

"Sorry?"

"Yeah — for mentioning — you know."

"Oh." Ronnie felt her blush creep back in. "It's okay. I know you didn't mean anything. I just… I just didn't want to talk about it."

"I know." Neville's still-rather-red face was serious. "Look, I —" he faltered, swallowed and took a deep breath. "I think Hermione's right."

"And in other shocking news, the sky is blue and dragons breathe fire," said Ronnie. "All right, all that tosh about repressing, maybe she does have a point, but I don't _want_ to —"

"Not about that," said Neville. "I mean — she's right about my memory. I think I have a better memory than I give myself credit for." He lowered his voice just slightly. "It's been almost a year, but I still remember what it was like. You know, to be under the Cruciatus."

Ronnie's heart sank a little further. "Oh," she said again.

"I know it was only a few seconds," said Neville quietly. "It felt like longer. The pain was worse than anything I've ever felt. I thought I would die. I _wished_ I would die. Anything to just end it. I still have nightmares about it sometimes."

Ronnie had no idea what to say to that.

"D'you know what the worst part of it was?" said Neville. "It wasn't the curse itself. It was — it was knowing that someone would use it so… so casually. I mean…" He paused, as if searching for the right words. He looked at her again, and once more seemed uncertain whether or not he should carry on — but then he made up his mind and continued: "When Bellatrix Lestrange used the Cruciatus to torture my parents —" He paused again, grimacing.

Crookshanks looked at him from his place in Ronnie's arms. Neville smiled briefly at the cat, and then grew serious again. He'd got his breath completely under control now.

"For as long as I can remember," he said, "ever since I was old enough to understand why Mum and Dad were at St. Mungo's and didn't know who I was when I came to see them, I thought about Bellatrix Lestrange and the Cruciatus. I tried to make sense of it all. Why would anyone do something like that to another person? I wanted to at least understand. And, well, I thought up a lot of answers. They were both trained Aurors she was trying to get information from. She was probably beside herself with anger because You-Know-Who was gone, and in a bit of denial because she didn't want him to be. Everybody knows she'd lost her marbles long before she was ever tossed into Azkaban."

Ronnie swallowed.

"But then, last Christmas," said Neville, still speaking in that soft voice, "Quirrell cast the Cruciatus on me. For barely any reason at all. I was no match for him; a Knockback Jinx or a Stunning Spell would have taken care of me. But he chose the Cruciatus. Just because I was in his way, a minor obstacle. He wasn't even that angry at me, just annoyed that I wouldn't let go of you. And — well."

"…Well?" she repeated.

He seemed to be searching for the right words. "After it was all over, I had to face the fact that I... that I lived in a world where people _did_ that. Subjected others to terrible torture… and for what? A minor annoyance? Don't mind telling you, knowing that such people exist... I've had a couple of sleepless nights, thinking about that."

"Oh." She couldn't help but feeling a bit of surprise at this. She hadn't even considered that angle to it.

"Anyway," he added hurriedly, "I just wanted to tell you that. To let you know that — err, well — I think I kind of understand a bit of what you're going through, and why you don't want to talk about the — you know…"

She looked at him then, at his embarrassed but concerned expression. He was so _close_ , and yet so _far away_ , from the real issue. And for a moment, just for a moment, she pondered telling him everything. He was one of the kindest people she had ever met, he'd probably understand…

Feeling the comforting weight of Crookshanks in her arms, she took a deep breath. "All right," she said. "Let's talk about the Imperius."

Neville blinked. "Er, I wasn't trying to get you to talk about —"

"I know. That's why I do want to talk about it."

And he understood. "Okay," he said.

Ronnie took a deep breath. "It's not that I'm scared," she said. "I mean, okay, the way you put it, it _is_ scary. But that's not why…" She paused, but only briefly. This was it, this was what she had been carried around for very nearly a year without wanting to put word around it. But she had made up her mind. "I'm ashamed."

"Ashamed? For being Imperiused?" said Neville.

"No, for —" The words almost caught in her throat. She took another deep breath, and then spat them out: "Because I _liked_ being Imperiused!"

There. She'd said it. Now she hurriedly averted her eyes to avoid meeting his perplexed look, and hugged Crookshanks a little tighter.

"It was the most wonderful feeling in the world, Neville," she murmured, feeling the cat's soft fur against her cheek. "Better than anything I'd ever felt in my life. I was — everything was so _nice_ , and I was so _happy_ , and that bastard Quirrell was right there, killing and torturing, and I didn't care. I didn't want it to end. I just wanted to stay a mindless puppet forever because it felt so good to be one."

"Ronnie —"

"What does that _say_ about me, Neville?" She still refused to look at him. "What sort of person — what sort of _person_ just stands around like that and _fucking loves_ what's happening to her, while her friends — her _best friends!_ — are fighting for their lives and being tortured?!"

"Actually, I think there is a term for people like that," said Neville quietly. "They're called _'people who are being Imperiused.'_

"You don't get it! I was standing there, and I was practically —"

"I'm pretty sure that's what the Imperius _does_ to people," said Neville, who was blushing a little. "It's called the euphoric… something. I forget what it's called. Hermione would know. But that's why the Imperius is so dangerous and so hard to fight. It makes you feel so good that you don't _want_ to fight it."

Ronnie raised her head then to meet his eyes, and saw no judgement in his expression — only honest compassion. "You know a lot about the Imperius," she said, feeling impressed.

"I — I sort of read a lot this Summer when I was sick," Neville admitted. "Gran wouldn't let me leave my room, but she did let me have all the books I wanted. I don't remember half of what I read now, of course, but I do remember reading about the Unforgivables…" He looked at her. "You've been feeling bad about the Imperius this entire time?"

"No! Yes. I don't know."

And for the first time since they'd known each other, he hugged her. _She_ had hugged _him_ before, of course; she hugged all her friends. But this was the first time that he'd been the one to initiate a hug. It was a somewhat clumsy hug, not made any more elegant by the fact that she was still holding Crookshanks in her arms and the cat came between them, but it was warm and comforting.

"Ronnie," he said. "We already knew that you liked it. It was one of the first things you told us after you were back to normal."

"It — it was?" Ronnie didn't even know how to feel about that. Parts of the aftermath of her encounter with the Imperius were a bit of a blur. Had she confessed back then and just forgotten that she had? "I _said_ that?"

"Yeah." Neville pulled back from the hug; he was blushing a little. "I do remember that much. We understand, Ronnie. Nobody blames you, and nobody thinks you're a bad person."

"Oh." Ronnie was sure she was blushing much brighter than he was. "Hermione was definitely right. You _do_ remember more than you think."

"Maybe I do." Neville smiled, a little shyly.

"That's probably _— ow!"_ All of a sudden, Ronnie felt a painful heat against her chest; the Warning Fang under her robes was growing hot again. At the same time, Crookshanks perked up and began growling out towards the darkness.

"What?!" The smile vanished from Neville's face.

"I don't know, the Warning Fang — ouch!" Ronnie winced at the uncomfortable heat and tried to look around to see what there could possibly be around that the Fang was reacting to.

And looked straight at the approaching forms of three highly unwelcome figures.

"Neville," said Ronnie as she slowly pulled away from her friend, "don't look now, but it seems like the corridor's infested by Trolls."

And true enough; here came three of Ronnie's least favourite people in the world; Malfoy in the center, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, all three of them strolling casually up along the corridor with the air of self-assured arrogance and menace they always had when they thought themselves to be in control of the situation.

"Isn't this cute," said Malfoy in his caracteristic lazy drawl. "Weasley and Longbottom, hugging in dark corridors. I believe I'm going to gag."

Crabbe and Goyle sniggered, as they always did whenever Malfoy said something he intended to be funny.

Despite the evil grins of the Trolls, however, Ronnie noticed to her surprise that the Warning Fang was cooling down; either the loathsome Slytherin trio hadn't been the danger it was warning against, or they had changed their minds about whatever they'd been planning to do when they found out they'd been noticed.

Crookshanks leapt out of Ronnie's arms and down to the floor, where he stood protectively in front of Ronnie and Neville and gave the Trolls some impressively dirty looks.

"Wh-what are you doing here, Malfoy?" said Neville, straightening himself and clearly trying to look like he wasn't intimidated by the clenching fists of Crabbe and Goyle. "Spying on us?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Longbottom," said Malfoy in an exaggeratedly bored tone. "You and Weasley could be stripping each other naked and it wouldn't be worth watching. Actually, I take that back. Probably a Magizoologist or two might find the Weasley mating habits mildly fascinating. No — we're just on our way back to our common room. We've been having a chat with my father."

"Your father's here?" said Ronnie. "What, someone finally discovered how stupid he was and forced him to re-enrol at Hogwarts so he could get some basic education?"

Malfoy scowled. "I'd tell you not to show your ignorance, Weasley, but that's clearly too big a task. My father is here on business for the Hogwarts Board of Governors. Don't tell me you didn't know he was the chairman of the board?"

"What, you actually did get him to come and try to give Professor Flamel the sack for not accepting your speech on how wizards were superior to Muggles?"

Malfoy's scowl turned into a smirk. "No, but that's not actually a bad idea," he said. "I'm pretty sure that Flamel broke some school rule by dangling a hundred house points in front of us and then not accepting my rebuttal. But that aside — if you want to know what my father is doing here, you're welcome to ask him. In fact, I _dare_ you to do it. He's right there, in the Deputy Headmistress's office."

He pointed towards a door down the corridor; a door that Ronnie knew well, even though she had never actually entered the room in question. As Deputy Head, McGonagall had her office on the first floor, and she had told all the Gryffindors that if they had any troubles, her door was always open. (A statement none of them had taken literally, because while Professor McGonagall had many admirable qualities she just wasn't the sort of teacher you felt comfortable confiding in.)

"Well?" said Malfoy. "What are you waiting for, Weasley? Go ask him. I'm sure he'll be ever so pleased to see you."

He was goading her, she knew, and the wise thing to do would be to turn around and leave without even going near McGonagall's office. But such logical argument went off to die a quiet and undignified death in the back of Ronnie's mind when faced with Malfoy's infuriating smirk. "Don't think I won't! I'm not afraid of your father!"

"Prove it."

"I will!"

"I'm not stopping you."

Neville, clearly bracing himself (and not quite able to hide the nervous looks at Crabbe and Goyle) took a step closer to Malfoy. "Stop trying to goad her, Malfoy! You just want her to get into trouble!"

Malfoy looked at him with disdain. "Did you figure that one out all on your own, Longbottom? Or did the _cat_ help you?" (Crookshanks growled again, but Malfoy ignored him.) "Crabbe, Goyle — let Weasley past, will you?"

Pretending she didn't hear Neville's protest, Ronnie stepped up towards the door to McGonagall's office. She wasn't quite sure just what she was going to do, and as she got closer she grew even less sure. What, was she just going to barge into McGonagall's office and start calling Lucius Malfoy a wanker? The idea was tempting, but would probably land her in detention for the rest of the year.

As she got close enough, however, she could see that the door was slightly ajar. A small, thin strip of light contrasted against the darkness of the corridor; seemed like Malfoy hadn't bothered to make sure the door was completely closed.

"— for the third time, Mr. Malfoy, the Headmaster will see you when he is available!"

That was McGonagall's voice; not very strong but clear enough now that she was close enough. Almost without meaning to, Ronnie stopped only a foot or so away from the door.

"I would have thought," came the deep, silky voice that Ronnie immediately recognised as that of Lucius Malfoy, "that a Headmaster who is at all interested in keeping his job would not keep the Chairman of the Hogwarts Board of Governors waiting,"

"As I recall, Mr. Malfoy," said Professor McGonagall dryly, "you have made similar threats before. Last time, unless I am much mistaken, it was over the Headmaster's refusal to remove _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ from the school library, as you felt it promoted marriage between wizards and Muggles."

"I wish only protect my son against dangerous influences," said Mr. Malfoy coldly. "And I assure you, madam, that I will stop at nothing to ensure his safety. Neither as a school governor nor as a father will I sit idly by while some unknown menace is attacking the children of the school."

"And I assure _you_ , Mr. Malfoy, that the removal of Albus Dumbledore as Headmaster will do nothing to increase security."

"Is it not true that you have a Muggle — a _Muggle!_ — in the hospital wing?"

"I rather doubt that poor man is in any shape to be a threat to your son." (Ronnie could almost imagine Professor McGonagall's disapproving expression as she said this.) "I would hardly call young Draco a top student, but I have every confidence that he is capable of defending himself against an ailing Muggle that happens to be in the same building. Even if said Muggle employs such vicious and underhanded tactics as lying unconscious and under supervision in the hospital wing."

Apparently Mr. Malfoy had no good counterarguments for that, because he ignored it and went on: "And I suppose the _Chamber of Secrets_ is harmless as well?"

(Ronnie stifled a gasp.)

"It's fifty years, to the year, since the last time the Chamber was opened," said Mr. Malfoy. "My father attended the school back then. He remembered the attacks well; the horror, the uncertainty… and it all ended in the death of a student. And worse, though the culprit was caught, he's still at Hogwarts to this day!"

"It was never proved that he had anything to do with the attacks _or_ the Chamber," said McGonagall. Her voice was controlled, but it was easy to hear the anger in it. "You see, Mr. Malfoy — I will not claim that our legal system is perfect, but we do try to treat a person as innocent until proven guilty. I believe you yourself have reason to be grateful for that."

There was a sharp thud from within, as if of someone slamming a fist down on a desk. Mr. Malfoy's voice was not quite a yell: "Am I to understand that you're not going to do _anything_ about this?"

"Quite the contrary, Mr. Malfoy. I am going to ask you, for the _fourth_ time, to wait until the Headmaster is available to see you."

At this point, there was a slight noise next to Ronnie. She had almost forgotten where she was and that she was eavesdropping — startled, she spun around to look straight into the concerned eyes of Neville.

"Come on, Ronnie," he said softly. "This isn't doing anyone any good. Let's go."

"Er — yeah." Ronnie felt silly, kind of like she'd just been pulled out of some weird trance.

Further down the corridor, with Crookshanks still eyeing them with suspicion, the Trolls were positively radiating self-satisfaction. "See, Crabbe?" said Malfoy. "I _told_ you she'd back out at the last minute. So much for _daring, chivalrous and brave."_

Ronnie stepped away from the door and closer to them. _"Sod off, Malfoy!"_ she hissed.

"Back to the old classics, are we?" Malfoy smirked. "Face it, Weasley, you're just like Longbottom: ugly, stupid _and_ cowardly."

Ronnie would have lunged at him there and then, if it hadn't been for the fact that Neville had apparently seen this coming and placed a hand on her shoulder to hold her back. Instead, she just spat, as venomously as she could: "For your _information_ , I was just put out for a moment because I heard your father say he didn't think you could defend yourself against an unconscious Muggle!"

Malfoy snorted. "Oh, _good_ one, Weasley."

"It's true!" Ronnie suddenly saw the opportunity to turn the tables. "Go in there and ask him if you don't believe me!"

But Malfoy, like Hermione earlier, didn't take the bait. He just waved his hand in a dismissing manner. "If you think I'm falling for that, Weasley, you're stupider than Longbottom. Come on, Crabbe — Goyle. Let's get back to our common room."

Determined to get at least one parting shot in, and deciding to take a gamble, Ronnie hurried to say: "He said something about the Chamber of Secrets, too!"

Malfoy had just been about to turn around, but at this he stopped dead in his tracks. For a moment, he looked taken aback — but then, he quickly caught himself, and his expression changed back to smug superiority. "Oh, really," he said, trying and not quite managing to sound dismissive.

"You know what the Chamber of Secrets is, don't you?" said Ronnie, moving towards him.

"And I see that _you_ don't," said Malfoy.

"What is it?!" she demanded.

His eyes narrowed. "Why should I tell you, if you don't already know?" With that, and motioning for Crabbe and Goyle to follow him, he slinked off down the corridor.

For a moment, Ronnie wanted to run after him and threaten to kick his balls if he didn't tell her — and if he had been alone, she probably would have. But Crabbe and Goyle were there, walking behind Malfoy and occasionally turning back to shoot her menacing looks, and Ronnie knew all too well she'd be no match for them physically. They wouldn't even have to hit her, just hold and lift her the way they'd done the first time she'd met them, on the Hogwarts express… _ugh_.

"What _is_ the Chamber of Secrets?" said Neville, looking ready to hold her back again.

"Oh. Right, you weren't there." Ronnie forced herself to look away from the retracting Trolls. "Harry's Uncle said something about it when we found him. I don't know what it is, but it seems like the Malfoys do."

"Mrrow!" said Crookshanks. He was sitting on the floor, staring up at her with intense yellow eyes. His bottle-brush tail was twitching agitatedly.

Something clicked in Ronnie's head. "Crookshanks, _you_ know what the Chamber of Secrets is?!"

"Meow!"

"Of course." Ronnie turned to Neville. "Dobby belongs to the Malfoys! He talked about something that happened fifty years ago — and right now I heard Malfoy's Dad say that the Chamber of Secrets was opened _fifty years ago!_ So whatever the Chamber of Secrets is — Dobby _must've_ told Crookshanks about it!"

Crookshanks just kept looking at her, as if to say _Finally, you got one right._

"That does make sense," Neville admitted. "In that case, maybe we should find Hermione after we've fetched Harry. Then she can put that Animal Talk Charm on you, or maybe on all of us, and then we can ask Crookshanks all about it."

Ronnie nodded. "How about it, Crookshanks?"

The cat half-closed his eyes in approval.

"To the hospital wing, then!" said Ronnie.

* * *

Ronnie would probably have reached the hospital wing faster if the un-athletic Neville hadn't been with her — but it would have been mean to say so. So she kept the pace of the walk manageable for him, letting Crookshanks lead the way as he'd done so often before.

Once again, she was struck by how _different_ the corridor was at night. She'd walked this way hundreds of times — all right, dozens of times, then — back in the days when Madam Pomfrey was still testing her and the rest of Potter's Gang for their immunity to potions, and they'd been called to the hospital wing every few days for a number of weeks. But all those trips had been during the way, with normal levels of light and noise.

Everything was quiet now, and the vaguely ominous feeling from before was sneaking back up on Ronnie, even stronger than before. Somehow, she couldn't shake the feeling that something nasty was waiting for them…. but no, surely it was nothing, she was just a little shaken by everything that had happened lately. The Warning Fang was quite cool against her chest, and Crookshanks didn't seem like he was sensing any danger. It was all fine.

"So," she said, once again to distract herself from the silence, "what was it you remembered about the Imperius earlier?"

"What?" said Neville. "Oh! Er, well, it was just a thought I had. I'm not sure how important it really is."

"Go on!"

"It was when Dumbledore said how Professor Flamel could recognise the Imperius if he got close enough to people," said Neville. "I remembered how Professor Lockhart always moved away whenever Flamel got too close to him… like that time at the Quidditch match. And I thought… well, it's silly, but what if…?"

Understanding dawned on Ronnie. "You think Lockhart's been under the Imperius this entire time?"

"It really is silly, isn't it?" Neville murmured. "Hearing it said out loud… just forget I mentioned it."

"No!" Ronnie shook her head eagerly. "Neville, that's _it!_ It would explain _so much!_ Remember how Mad-Eye Moody once said that he'd known of people who were under the Imperius for years? And how a properly-cast Imperius is almost impossible to notice? If Flamel's the only one who could see through it… that's why Lockhart's been avoiding Flamel! He must've known that Flamel could see through him!"

Neville nodded. The fact that she wasn't dismissing his thought seemed to encourage him. "Or, er, whoever Imperiused him must've known, and ordered him not to let Lockhart get too close."

"Right! And sometimes he got this glazed look on his face…"

"Like when we saw him in the Pensieve?"

"Yes, but he's been getting that look on and off all year! Luna's noticed it too! She said thought it was Wrackspurts…"

"…but what if it was just Lockhart trying and failing to fight off the Imperius?!"

"Exactly!" Ronnie nodded. "And if Harry's Uncle was under the Imperius, it makes sense that Lockhart was! Neville, I bet that Shirley Holes girl would be proud of you! And maybe —" She paused as a new thought struck her. "That was why the replacement rats were white!"

"What?" Neville blinked.

"Think about it! We're pretty certain now that the rats I saw in Lockhart's office were Harry's Transfigured Aunt and Uncle, right? And whoever it was that Imperiused Lockhart — knew the office would be searched, and knew that Transfigured humans would be discovered, so they ordered Lockhart to get a couple of normal rats to replace them!"

"Yeah?" Neville nodded. Like Harry, he'd had no problem accepting this theory as plausible when she'd first told him.

"But those rats were _grey_ , and the replacement rats were _white_. Pretty big difference. The only reason nobody noticed was nobody except me had seen the original rats, and I didn't get to see the replacements. When I found out, I thought it was just one of Lockhart's normal muck-ups, but what if it wasn't? What if it was Lockhart managing to fight the Imperius _just enough_ that he managed to leave us a clue that something was off?"

"Of course!" Neville exclaimed, and then looked a little more thoughtful. "Er — is it possible to do that? Fight against the Imperius in that way?"

Ronnie felt herself turn pink again, as the uncomfortable memories of being under the Imperius forced themselves into her head. But this time she didn't try to repress the memories; it seemed like allowing herself to think about the Imperius _did_ help her, at least when it came to figuring things out.

The Imperius was so… overwhelming. So… well, so _nice_. Could you really fight against that overpowering feeling of bliss?

"Dunno," she finally admitted. "I know _I_ couldn't have done it. If _Lockhart_ managed, I might have to start respecting him… just a little."

"We should tell Dumbledore about this," said Neville. "If he hasn't figured it out already, he needs to know."

"Yeah." She nodded. "Who d'you think Imperiused Lockhart? Wormtail? Or, hell, maybe Wormtail's gonna turn out to have been Imperiused all along too."

"Maybe Harry has some ideas," said Neville. "We can ask him — here we are."

They'd reached the heavy door that separated the hospital wing from the rest of the castle, and Neville reached out and opened the door to let Ronnie through.

"Maybe Crookshanks should stay out here," he began. "Madam Pomfrey doesn't like pets in the hospital wing, you — hey!"

The surprised exclamation was to Crookshanks, who had quite ignored what Neville had to say about Madam Pomfrey's opinion of pets in the hospital wing, and darted inside, vanishing into the infirmary.

"Crooksh — Oh, Merlin's pants!" said Ronnie. Any moment now, Madam Pomfrey would appear in the doorway and tell them off for letting a cat into the infirmary…

But nothing happened. The matron was nowhere to be seen — which was odd. Usually she had an uncanny way of knowing when someone set foot in the hospital wing and would be there in moments to hear what they wanted and make sure they didn't disturb any patients. And the presence of a cat should have summoned her in seconds.

Ronnie met Neville's eyes, and knew he was thinking the same as her.

"Maybe she's busy measuring out potions or something?" he said, though not very hopefully.

And then, all of a sudden, a loud meow from inside.

"Crookshanks!" Without waiting for Neville, without even thinking, Ronnie stormed through the door to see what her cat was meowing about.

Moments after she's entered the infirmary, she stopped dead in her tracks, for a brief moment unable to do anything but stare.

The room was almost devoid of people. The curtains around the beds were all pulled open, revealing that only three beds were in use — two of them contained the Petrified Lavender Brown and Gilderoy Lockhart, both of them lying in awkwardly stiff positions and staring blankly up at the ceiling, while on the opposite side of the room, a third bed contained a hollow-cheeked and apparently unconscious Vernon Dursley.

And on the floor, between the rows of beds, an agitated Crookshanks was pacing in front of Madam Pomfrey, who was lying still and unmoving on the floor.

And Harry was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED…**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dramatic music! What happened to Madam Pomfrey? And where's Harry — did he just skip back to the Gryffindor common room, or has someone taken him away? Find out next chapter!
> 
> Sometimes I worry that I'm not giving Neville enough to do in the story. He's one of my favourite characters in the franchise, perhaps because he's one of the very few people in the wizarding world who is just an all-around good person, completely without guile or malice. Problem is that he's not very assertive — and when he's in a Gang with three strong-willed girls, one bundle of energy in the shape of a boy, and the Boy Who Lived, this often means Neville takes a backseat to the rest of them. So I'm grateful when I get the opportunity to give him some moments like in this chapter.
> 
> In case you haven't seen it, I recently made a few slight alterations to the previous chapters of story. Nothing big, just a few word swaps to better and more clearly set up certain developments in this chapter. The most noticeable change is that there's an extra scene in chapter seven, with a dialogue between Ronnie and Hermione that touches upon the Imperius.
> 
> I've always known exactly why Ronnie didn't want to talk, or think, about the Imperius, and I also knew that Hermione would eventually confront her about it. However, the story as it was written didn't quite seem to gel, and I began worrying that I hadn't set up Hermione's concern clearly enough from the start. That is the problem with publishing a story chapter-by-chapter as you write it; sometimes clarity and story flow suffers a little.
> 
> With the extra scene, it should be clearer that Hermione knew all along that Ronnie was avoiding talking about the Imperius, even if she wasn't grasping the full story. (Plus the extra scene also gave me an opportunity to touch a little more on the issue of Hermione's parents.)
> 
> Oh, and just for fun: I took the Pottermore Sorting quiz in-character as Ronnie, and she became a Gryffindor. I knew it.


	16. What Are You Meowing About Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pieces are moving into place, and Ronnie's "inner Shirley Holes" is about to get a bit of a workout. In this chapter, quite a few mysteries will be answered. Some of them you probably already guessed, some of them anyone who's read the canon books will know. Some of them will be answered by those in the know, and some of them Ronnie's going to have to work out for herself.
> 
> But will she be able to work out the correct solutions, or will she jump to the wrong conclusions again?
> 
> Let's find out.

"Madam Pomfrey!" Neville had entered the room just moments after Ronnie, wand drawn, and now he was staring at the scene.

"Harry!" Ronnie called, brandishing her wand, hoping against hope that he'd hear her and answer. "Harry?!"

Silence. Harry really wasn't there.

There was, of course, always the chance that he'd simply gone back to Gryffindor Tower before Madam Pomfrey got Petrified — but Ronnie didn't believe that for a second. She knew in her soul that Harry was _gone_. Harry was in _trouble._

From his bed, Vernon Dursley suddenly jerked and opened his eyes. He heaved for his breath and looked like he was trying to sit up, but seemed to be stuck to the bed. (A Sticking Charm, maybe? Sometimes Madam Pomfrey used them to stop spasming patients from hurting themselves.)

"You!" he managed to say, his voice hoarse and croaked.

"Mr. Dursley!" Ronnie was over by him in a flash. "What happened? Did you see anything?"

He stared at her with a wild expression on his face. Once more, he looked like he was trying to sit up. "The man," he wheezed. "That bastard of a rat! Came out of the wall… The boy! Petunia… _PETUNIA!"_

"The rat that came out of the —?" Ronnie blinked.

 _"YOU TOOK MY WIFE, YOU MONSTERS!"_ Vernon suddenly bellowed, causing Ronnie to step back in alarm. He began thrashing around, trying to tear himself loose from the bed, but to no avail. (Definitely a Sticking Charm.) _"I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL THE LOT OF YOU!"_

Ronnie caught her breath again, looking at the man as his roars of anger dissolved into pitiful sobs. She felt a stab of sympathy, mixed with frustration. This poor bloke wasn't going to be any help at all; he was too far gone for her to reach him.

"Petunia!" Vernon sobbed. "Don't hurt my Petunia!"

"Ronnie!" Neville called out from behind her. He was kneeling down by the still form of Madam Pomfrey, along with a still-pacing Crookshanks. "It's Madam Pomfrey — she's not Petrified! She's _asleep!"_

"What?" Ronnie forced herself away from the crying Vernon. "Why'd she be taking a nap right — wait. _Wait a minute."_

Suddenly, it all slid into place in her head, just like it no doubt did in Shirley Holes's head whenever she deduced something.

"The Hogwarts Express," she said, looking at Neville.

"What?" He blinked in confusion. "What about it?"

"Why'd Madam Pomfrey decide to take a nap right now? Same reason _we_ slept through the entire train ride back in September! Bet you _anything_ it's the same spell! Neville, it's so bloody _obvious!_ I know who took Harry — it was the same person who took the diary from me back on the train! _It was Wormtail!"_

"Er —"

"Think about it! Wormtail's an Animagus, right? How easy would it have been for him to sneak aboard the train in animal form? You know what it's like on Platform Nine-and-three-quarters on September the First! It's _full_ of pets, and they're not all in carriers either! Even Trevor went wandering on the train, remember? Who'd notice an extra pet?"

Now it seemed to dawn on Neville as well. "So what you're saying is that Wormtail hid on the train in animal form, and waited until nobody saw, then he turned human again —"

"Right! And then he put us to sleep, all so he could get his hands on the diary! That book's full of Dark Magic, it could have taught him how to Petrify people, and how to put Lockhart under the Imperius — it probably even told him how to kidnap Harry's Aunt and Uncle! Since those protections on Privet Drive were gone, it wouldn't even have been all that hard for him to get to them! _It all fits, Neville!"_

"But _why?"_ said Neville. "Why's he doing all this? And if he stole the diary from you, how did he know you had it in the first place? And, most importantly — _where has he taken Harry?!"_

"The Chamber!" Vernon suddenly croaked from his bed. When Ronnie and Neville turned to look at him, he met their eyes — clearly straining to focus, but more lucid than he'd been before. "It's the Chamber… Chamber of Secrets!" he hissed.

"Chamber of Secrets!" Ronnie exclaimed. "There it is again! It that where Harry is?"

Vernon breathed heavily. "You have to — get to the Chamber of Secrets," he managed to say. "Petunia… the boy…. _ugh."_ With that, he collapsed back down, his eyes closing.

"Mr. Dursley!" Ronnie was over by him in a heartbeat. "Mr. Dursley, _where_ is the Chamber of Secrets?! How do we get there?"

But Vernon didn't answer; he was lying still, breathing shallowly. Clearly that attempt at focusing had used up the last bit of his strength.

Ronnie had to stop herself from crying out in frustration. Instead, she turned around to look at Crookshanks, who was still by the sleeping form of Madam Pomfrey. He had stopped pacing, but was staring intensely at her, tail flicking.

"Crookshanks," she said. _"You_ know where the Chamber of Secrets is, don't you? Can you take us there?"

He cocked his head and then sat down on his haunches, his large ears twitching slightly. He didn't seem annoyed, just reluctant.

"We can't do this alone," said Neville. "We should go get help! Dumbledore — McGonagall, Flamel, Hagrid! Hermione, Ginny and Colin!"

"We don't have time to run around and find them all," said Ronnie. "It'll take too long…" and then, quite without any sort of warning, the idea was there in her head. She straightened herself and called, as loud as she could: _"Fawkes! FAWKES!"_

The words had barely escaped her lips before the brilliant firebird appeared in a puff of flames right over them, flapped his wings, and, like it was nothing, settled down to perch on her shoulder.

"Fawkes," she said in relief, quickly stroking his head with a gentle finger, once again feeling the familiar surge of warmth and confidence that always came in the phoenix's presence. She could do this; she _knew_ she could do this. "Dumbledore said you would keep an eye on us, so I hoped you'd hear me call. You'll help us, right?"

He answered with one of his musical trills.

"I'll take that as a yes," she said hurriedly. "Listen. I need you to take Neville up to the Gryffindor common room to check if Harry's there. If he isn't, then take him to Dumbledore's office. Get Dumbledore."

"Why me?" said Neville, clearly not looking forward to another fiery Apparition, even as Fawkes took off from Ronnie's shoulder and landed on his head.

"Because Fawkes can't talk, and we don't have the time to write notes or play guessing games." Ronnie looked at Crookshanks. "Besides, while you're doing that, _I_ have a cat to talk to."

Neville looked like he was about to argue, but then apparently thought better of it. He nodded (carefully so as not to upset the phoenix on his head). "Right. We'll be back with help right away."

And then, without further ado, boy and bird alike vanished in a puff of flames. Leaving girl and cat alone in the infirmary, amidst the unconscious, sleeping or Petrified people.

Ronnie looked about. The infirmary seemed even darker and colder without Neville and Fawkes. The still forms of Lavender, Lockhart, Madam Pomfrey and Vernon Dursley just made the eerie feeling that much stronger; for a moment Ronnie felt like she was the only human awake in a world of still, unmoving people...

She shook her head, repressing the feeling. No time to start getting the chills.

Instead, she looked down at Crookshanks. She was more certain than ever that he knew more about all this than anyone; especially about this Chamber of Secrets. If she could talk to him — talk _properly_ — she could probably convince him to take her there. To take them _all_ there, she corrected herself, when Neville and Fawkes returned with backup. She had _almost_ managed the Animal Talk charm earlier the same day. Now, that she needed it more than ever…!

She took a deep breath. "Okay, then," she said, careful to keep her voice calm and steady as she raised her wand. "Ready, Crookshanks? Wand ready. Eye contact. Swipe and point. _Animaloqui!"_

Nothing happened. Not even the flash of purple light from earlier that day. Crookshanks looked up at her with a clear expression of bemusement.

Ronnie lifted her wand to her face. "Listen, you piece of garbage," she hissed. "We don't have time for this! I don't care that you're a triple hand-me-down. I don't care that you're old and worn and that your unicorn hair core is showing. You're the only wand I've got, and if you don't perform this spell _right now_ , _I'm going to break you in two and set fire to the pieces! "_

The wand, of course, didn't react, but the threat made her feel a little better. She grasped it again and pointed it at Crookshanks — who, she was certain, would have been rolling his eyes right now if he could.

"Now —swipe and point — _Animaloqui!"_

Whether it was her threat or not was hard to say, but this time the wand lit up with brilliant purple light. She felt a slight tingle in her throat and in her ears, and then the light faded, leaving everything looking normal again.

 _Something_ had happened, that was clear. But what? Carefully lowering her wand (and making a mental threat to it that it wasn't too late to break it in two), she drew a breath. "Did it work?"

"Dunno, Princess," said Crookshanks. "You tell me. Way fings are going, probably not."

Ronnie stared at him. "I... Did you just say that?"

Crookshanks's left ear twitched, and there was a hopeful look on his permanently-grumpy face. "I did! Did _you_ just _hear_ that?"

"I did! And did you just say _that?"_

"That was me!"

"All right," said Ronnie calmly. And then she let out a huge cry of triumph and punched the air. "Yes! _Yes!_ Oh, you _brilliant_ triple hand-me-down!" she said to her wand, placing it to her lips and kissing it before looking down at her cat. "Crookshanks, it worked! I can understand you! Say something more!"

The cat cocked his head, giving her an odd look. "Wotcha fink I am, Princess, a parrot?" he said, back to a more flippant tone.

"No but —" Ronnie paused, realising that she hadn't said any of this with her voice.

Talking in cat language wasn't quite like talking in any human language. She had already known that cats didn't communicate verbally all that much; meows, chirps, hisses and purrs were just a tiny part of their language, and a lot more was said through body language and movement — but she hadn't quite been prepared for just _how much_ that was said without uttering a single sound. Crookshanks, she now understood, could speak volumes with a single flick of his bottle-brush tail, or by moving a paw in a certain way — even though she had thought she'd started to pick up a lot of what he was trying to say over the months, now that she was under the Animal Talk charm it was incredible just how much that had passed her by.

For example, she'd never quite realised just what a marked London accent — or the feline equivalent of an accent — that her cat had.

"Bloody hell," she said, slightly relieved that she could still swear even if she was speaking cat language. "This is a _weird_ way of talking."

"Nah, it ain't, Princess," said Crookshanks cheerily. "Your normal way of talking, now _that's_ weird."

She looked at him. So many things she'd wanted to say to him, to ask about. And yet, now that she could, the first thing that came to mind was "…why do you keep calling me _'Princess'?"_

"Why not?" Crookshanks cocked his head. "You keep calling me _'Crookshanks,'_ don'tcha?"

Ronnie blinked. "Yeah, because that's your name."

"Nah, that was just what 'at witch back in the pet shop called me." Crookshanks leapt elegantly up onto one of the empty beds and sat down on his haunches. "By the by, never formerly thanked you for getting me out of that place, did I?"

"Er — you sort of implied it, I think," said Ronnie.

"Certainly meant to," said Crookshanks. "Boringest place I ever set paw in. Only 'alf-decent bit of conversation I ever 'ad in that place was with 'at bloody Jarvey. So I reckon you can call me whatever you like. If you like _'Crookshanks,'_ well. 'at's fine by me. But it wasn't the name me mother gave me."

"Oh, sorry." Ronnie had to admit, when it came to naming conventions of cats she knew nothing. "What _did_ your mother call you?"

"She called me ' _Meow,'_ of course," said Crookshanks. "Bit of a traditionalist, me mother. She named all 'er kittens ' _Meow.'_ Made it easier for 'er to call for us."

"…didn't it get awfully confusing if everyone had the same name?" was all Ronnie could think to say.

"Why should it? I knew who I was. Siblings knew who _they_ was. Cats don't need need separate names to remind us who we are, it's only you _people_ what's never sure," said the-Meow-Also-Known-As-Crookshanks. "Anyway, just to make it easier on you, keep calling me _'Crookshanks,'_ and I'll keep calling you _'Princess.'_ Deal?"

"All right, deal." For a moment, Ronnie considered holding her hand out so they could shake on it, but she dismissed the idea as too ludicrous. Besides… as the initial overwhelming feeling of actually being able to talk to her cat was fading, the reason for why she had cast the spell to begin with once more presented itself in her mind. She had some serious questions to ask. "So, Crookshanks, I wanted to ask you about the Chamber of Secrets."

"Yeah," Crookshanks didn't seem too enthusiastic. "Thought we'd get to that."

"I'm almost _certain_ that's where Harry's been taken — and I'm almost certain _you_ know where to find it!"

"Oh, I _know_ it, don't I just," said Crookshanks. "But this ain't like back in London, Princess. Just 'cos I know where it _is_ , it don't mean I know 'ow to _get_ to it."

"What d'you mean?"

"Just that to find the Chamber of Secrets, you need that stinking _book._ Won't be able to get in without it."

"Book?" said Ronnie, blinking. "The diary?"

"Got it in one, Princess!"

Ronnie frowned lightly. "How come? Does it have a password or a key or a charm or something?"

"Or somefink," Crookshanks agreed. "The book _is_ the key. If I'd known 'ow much it woulda matterered, I woulda put up a bigger fight back on the train, 'y'know, when you lot was off in dreamland and the _rat_ came to steal it."

"Rat?" Ronnie repeated. Vernon had also mentioned a rat. Which would mean... Of course, it made sense. _Wormtail_. Either he'd been a rat Animagus already at Hogwarts, or the Marauders had been _really_ lucky when picking a nickname for him. "So that's Wormtail's Animagus form? A rat?"

Crookshanks looked at her. "Yeah, about that," he said. "You're right that 'e was the one what stole the book but... I got a bit of a story to tell you, Princess."

"I would have loved to listen to your stories all night long," Ronnie sighed, "but we don't have time! Harry's gone, and Neville's fetching Dumbledore — oh _, fuck!"_ she suddenly snapped, her swearing coming out as a hiss. "Dumbledore's not gonna be in his office! He'll have gone off to show my stupid memory to Mr. Lupin, won't he?"

Her mind raced. What would Neville do when Dumbledore wasn't in his office? He did have Fawkes, and Fawkes could take him anywhere — Phoenixes could Apparate over pretty long distances, but Ronnie wasn't sure if they could take passengers over long distances too. Yes, they probably could. But would Neville think to use Fawkes to Apparate to Dumbledore, or would he instead go fetch someone else? The Gang, Flamel, McGonagall…. Either way, it would take longer for him to get back with the help than Ronnie had anticipated.

She sighed and as down on the bed next to her cat. "Might as well tell me the story then," she said. "Doesn't look like we're going anywhere for the moment."

Crookshanks placed a paw on her knee. "I'll make it brief," he promised. "Such a lotta things I've wanted to say to you, for a long time. Apart from, y'know, thanks for getting me out of that pet shop."

She couldn't help but smile at that, scratching his ears gently. "You're welcome. Go on, then."

He purred briefly before growing serious. "All right, let's start with the book. When I saw you wiv it, I knew straight away it was bad news. It smelled rotten. Didn't know just 'ow bad it was until the _elf_ told me about it, mind."

"That'd be Dobby," said Ronnie, allowing herself a moment of pride for her idea to let Dobby talk to Crookshanks.

"Right you are! Ain't as stupid as 'e looks, that elf, he knew a lot about what's been going on, and about the book. Said if you carry it around long enough, and write in it, it can make you _do_ things, and you don't even know you're doing 'em."

Ronnie felt a small chill. The diary had seemed so _innocent_ when she found it. Even after they'd found out that it could think for itself, despite Dad' warnings about such objects, both she and Ginny had decided to keep it a secret. Of course, the plan had been to take it to Dumbledore, but… why _hadn't_ they wanted to tell anyone else about it?

"Did —" She had to ask. "Did the book ever make _me_ do anything? Or Ginny?"

"Nah, don't fret none, Princess. The book needs a bit of time to work, and the rat scattered wif it before it could do anyfink to either of you. Besides, _I_ stopped you from writing in it when I could, didn't I?" Crookshanks nonchalantly licked a paw.

Ronnie breathed a sigh of relief. "You're a treasure, you know that?" She gave him a cat-smile. "Thanks for trying to look out for us."

"Course I did," said Crookshanks, as if this was obvious. "You and your sister are a couple of silly girls, but you're _my_ silly girls now. Any _book_ wants to cause you any 'arm, I'll tear its pages out."

Ronnie had never in her life wanted more to scoop someone up in her arms and hug them tightly — but she stopped herself. _Later,_ she told herself. _When we've got Harry and everything is safe, I'm going to hug Crookshanks for an hour. And then get him the biggest salmon I can find._

"But what's the link between the diary and the Chamber of Secrets?" she said.

"Ah, getting to that, 'cos that's where it gets _inn_ eresting!" Crookshanks flicked his tail nonchalantly. "From what the elf told me, the Chamber was created long ago by one of them four Founders. I forget 'is name, you know, the snake-talker."

"Er… Slytherin?"

"That's the bugger! 'E made the Chamber in secret and then 'e made it so that only other snake-talkers could find it. And when 'e left the school later on, 'e 'id a monster in 'at Chamber, one that'd sleep until it was woken up by 'is true heir. Cause only that true heir could control the monster, or some rot like that. And then it'd purge the school of all the people 'e didn't like."

 _The Heir of Slytherin_ , Ronnie realised.

Of course, everybody knew that all four Founders had plenty of descendants and that there were old Pureblood families who could (or at least _said_ they could) trace their ancestry back to one of the four. But the Heir of Slytherin was special.

It was a title nobody really wanted because old Salazar had been a twisted old loony, but nevertheless — for as long as Ronnie could remember, there had been the occasional whisper, joking or not, that there still were those wizards and witches around who were Salazar's direct-line descendants, and who still knew all sorts of terrible Dark magic and terrible secrets that everyone else had forgotten.

Ronnie's family had never taken that seriously; certainly Mum would always dismiss the idea whenever it came up. But what if it was true? What if Wormtail —

Ronnie shook her head. No. Of _course_. Wormtail wasn't the Heir of Slytherin. But he did have a book that had been written by, and contained the thoughts and memories of…

"Bloody hell," she repeated, feeling stupid. _"You-Know-Who's_ the Heir of Slytherin. And that's why the diary can be the key to the Chamber of Secrets, it can probably make you talk in Parseltongue! It's so bloody obvious that it took me eleven years to figure it out. That entire Parseltongue thing's a dead giveaway. Pokesby _said_ it ran in the family…" All of a sudden, the thought was interrupted as an icy hand clenched her heart. "Crookshanks!" she gasped. "D'you know what this means? _Harry's locked in a Chamber with a monster that only You-Know-Who can control!"_

"Worse 'n that, Princess," said Crookshanks grimly. "'E's locked in a Chamber with a monster and a _rat."_

Ronnie shook her head. "Yeah, well, forgive me if the rat isn't my biggest concern right —"

"A rat that used to live in _your_ 'ouse."

_"What?"_

"I was trying to ease you into this, but, well, why'd you fink I started chasing that rat the moment I smelled 'im? Any cat worth 'is dinner could tell from one whiff that wasn't no real rat! Reckon 'e saw that 'orrid man slip you the book back in 'at book shop. Rats got sharp noses, so 'e musta been able to smell the rottenness of it all already then. That's why 'e panicked and ran for it. Dunno why he changed 'is mind afterwards, but apparently 'e did, since 'e came on the train to steal the book —"

"Wait, what?" Ronnie interrupted him, trying to make sense of this. "What are you _talking_ about?"

Crookshanks flicked his tail. "Oh, come now, Princess! You're smarter than this! Back at the book shop! You _saw_ the rat make a run for it, caused a great ruckus wiv all the people there! I woulda caught 'im, too, but that giant bloke got to me first, and so the rat gave me the slip —"

_"Scabbers?!"_

"Oh yeah, that's what you called 'im. I forgot. Bet that wasn't 'is real name either, mind."

 _"Scabbers_ is Wormail? _Ginny's pet rat_ Scabbers?! _That_ Scabbers?!"

"That's the bugger."

Ronnie shook her head. "Come on, get off it, Crookshanks, that's _stupid!_ Scabbers is gone, probably long dead! And he wasn't an Animagus, he was just Ginny's old, lazy pet rat! He was in the family for eleven years, he's as old as Ginny, and he never —"

"Never been no real rat," said Crookshanks firmly. "He smelled almost as rotten as that book!"

"But…" She forced herself to think a little more closely about it. Scabbers _had_ been in the family for eleven years. In fact, hadn't Percy found him just shortly after the war had ended? How many normal rats lived for that long? If Wormtail faked his death eleven years ago, and he'd been living as a rat ever since… wouldn't it make sense that he'd get himself adopted by a wizard family? If he was on the run from Sirius Black, and Black ever escaped from Azkaban, the wizard family would get the news, and Wormtail would be prepared…

"No! That's stupid!" she said again. "Scabbers _can't_ have been a human all along. Someone would have noticed! _I_ would have noticed! Animals is my thing; I _would_ have noticed!"

"Little strange that you didn't, I thought," Crookshanks agreed.

"Yeah, so you see how it's stupid…" Ronnie paused. _Hadn't_ she noticed? She had never quite liked Scabbers, had she? She'd felt bad about not liking him, but she'd pretty much just thought that she never took to the rat because he was one of few animals she knew that didn't adore her. But what if she'd subconsciously just sensed that something was off about him?

Come to think of it, _Charlie_ had never taken to Scabbers either. That was why _Percy_ had adopted and kept the rat, even if all the other animals in or near the Burrow took to Ronnie and Charlie…

 _Hah!_ It made sense! If Scabbers wasn't a real animal, of _course_ he wouldn't bond with Ronnie! There wasn't anything wrong with her after all; it was just an Animagus who hadn't known, and probably not even been interested in, the fact that he was supposed to love her the way all animals did!

The brief surge of vindication Ronnie felt at this suddenly gave way to a sense of squeamishness.

 _Eleven years._ Eleven years an Animagus — an _adult human man_ — had lived with them without any of them ever knowing. Even worse, for the last two years he'd lived in Ronnie's and Ginny's room. Sometimes Ginny had even let him sleep in her _bed._

Bed. Oh, _God_ , he'd been right there when they'd undressed for bed. He'd seen them _naked._ He'd been there to watch them _sleep_. Ronnie had never been so grateful that rats had such poor eyesight — hang on, did _rat Animagi_ have as poor eyesight as normal rats?! And… he'd been in his cage for most of the time, but a rat with a human intelligence could probably exit a simple rat cage without much trouble if he wanted to… and he was adept at sleep spells too… he could have taken on human form while they slept, and… her skin crawled.

"You all right there, Princess?" said Crookshanks, sounding concerned.

Ronnie swallowed heavily. Then, squeamishness gave way to anger. "If what you're saying is true," she growled, "then I'm gonna _kill_ that rat!"

"Sounds good to me," said Crookshanks. "Love to get me paws on 'im myself."

"Right!" Ronnie clutched her wand. "We're done waiting! You said you know where the Chamber is, so take me there!"

"Told you, I know where it _is_ , but we can't get to it without the book," said Crookshanks. "Leastways, I don't reckon we can."

"What d'you mean?!"

"Well, I knew the rat's been 'iding out in this castle for months. Sniffed out 'is 'ideout, but I couldn't get in. Couldn't even find a door. You remember, it was back when you asked me to look for _that_ bloke." (He indicated the unconscious Vernon with a glance.)

"Oh yeah..." Ronnie remember. That time when Crookshanks had taken them all to the seventh-floor corridor, just before she'd got her Warning Fang back from Luna. "And you think that hideout might be connected to the Chamber of Secrets?" She nodded. "All right, take me _there!"_

"Told you, Princess, there's no door! Got a plan, 'ave you?"

"Yeah, I've got a plan! When I find the rat, I'm gonna _step_ on him! Or if he's human at the time, I'm gonna kick him in the nads so hard he turns into a woman!"

"Yeah, great plan, Princess," said Crookshanks. (It was amazing just how sarcastic feline language could sound, even when it wasn't verbal.) "Go down in 'istory as one of 'oomanity's greatest finkers, you will."

"You don't understand! If that — that _pervert_ has got Harry, then I'm not leaving him alone with him for a _second_ more!" Ronnie realised that she was hissing and that she was swaying her hips back and forth as if she was angrily lashing with a tail she didn't have. She forced herself to calm down. _"Please,_ Crookshanks! Harry... he was the one who gave me the money to get you from the _Magical Menagerie!_ You wouldn't even have been here if it wasn't for him!"

Crookshanks sighed, in a very human-like way. "All right, all right, I never said I wouldn't 'elp. Just not sure 'ow much good it'll do. Dunno about you, Princess, but walking through walls ain't one of _my_ particular talents."

"But if we can just _find_ the place... if there's even a slight chance that we can get to Harry... _wait!"_ Ronnie suddenly interrupted herself. "Of _course_! Walking through walls? I know who can do that!"

Crookshanks flicked a vaguely annoyed ear. "You don't mean…"

"Think about it! Why were the ghosts all Petrified? Because they can walk through walls! They would have found Wormtail's hideout sooner or later! But there's _one_ ghost left!"

 

 

* * *

 

 

"What do _you_ want?" said Moaning Myrtle. She was floating in mid-air over one of the sinks, with her arms crossed and a sour expression on her bespectacled face. "I thought I told you to stay out of my bathroom!"

The run over to the out-of-order bathroom had only taken a couple of minutes, and Ronnie had to catch her breath before she could answer the ghost.

"Myrtle," she panted, ready to swallow her pride and grovel if necessary. "I'm _sorry_ , okay? Sorry for everything! But I need your help!"

Myrtle blinked, a look of surprise on her face. Then, to Ronnie's complete astonishment, she started giggling.

It was the first time Ronnie had ever heard her laugh, and she wasn't certain it was a pleasant experience; Myrtle had a high-pitched, oddly hollow and eerie-sounding giggle that was much more unnerving than her usual wails and sobs.

"What d'you mean, _'meow, meow'_?" the ghost managed to say between her giggles. "Do you think that if you act like a cat I'll forgive you for being mean to me?"

"I'm not —" Ronnie began.

"Still talking cat language, Princess," said Crookshanks from the floor next to her. He'd kept up with her easily on the swift run to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and now he was peering up at the ghost with a decidedly unimpressed look.

Ronnie's heart sank. Of course, she was still under the _Animaloqui_. Which meant that for the moment, she couldn't speak any language apart from the feline one — she was stuck meowing and using feline body language until the Charm was broken, and there was nobody here with a wand who could provide that particular service for her.

"You don't understand a word I'm saying, do you," she said to the giggling Myrtle.

"Some of the ghosts 'ere can talk to us cats," Crookshanks offered, "but I don't fink _she's_ got enough brains in 'er 'ead for that."

"Are you talking to your kitty?" Myrtle giggled. "That's just adorable!"

Ronnie stifled a very feline hiss of frustration, and instead looked around the discarded bathroom. As she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, an idea fell into her head. Hoping that the Animaloqui only kept her from verbally communicating in human language, she scooted over to the mirror and breathed on it to make it fog up.

Then, she extended one finger to write in the fog: _I'm under a charm and can't talk._

This turned Myrtle's giggle into a hearty guffaw. "Oh, poor you!" she cheered without the slightest bit of sympathy in her voice. "You'll be teased something _awful_ when you return to your common room!"

Ignoring the impulse to throw something at Myrtle, Ronnie breathed on the mirror again and wrote: _I need your help._

Myrtle snorted, but the prospect of Ronnie being teased seemed to have put her in such a good mood that she didn't start wailing about how mean everyone was. "I can't break that charm!" she said. "And even if I _could, I wouldn't!_ You can go around meowing for a bit, and it serves you right!"

Ronnie shook her head, breathed and wrote: _Help to find the Chamber of Secrets!_

"Chamber of — oh, _that_ old thing again?" Myrtle scoffed, her smile instantly vanishing. "That was all anyone wanted to talk to me about when I died too. Nobody cared that I'd been _bullied_ by Olive Hornby and that I wouldn't even have been in this bathroom if she hadn't laughed at my glasses. No, it was 'Chamber of Secrets' this, and 'Chamber of Secrets' that. I didn't see any stupid Chamber of Secrets, I just sat right here in this bathroom and then I _died,_ and it was _all_ because of Olive Hormby!" The smile returned, but this time it was gleeful and almost malicious. "Wasn't _she_ sorry afterwards, when I came back to haunt her!"

"Talks a lot, don't she?" Crookshanks commented. "Don't fink you'll get any 'elp from 'er, Princess."

But Ronnie barely paid attention. For the second time in less than an hour, something slid into place in her mind. Myrtle had died in this bathroom. Myrtle had earlier said that her _fiftieth deathday_ was coming up.

 _"Myrtle!"_ she meowed. _"I know who killed you!"_

The ghost stopped her tirade about Olive Hornby and turned to look at her. She clearly hadn't understood what Ronnie said, but seemed at least to get that Ronnie was agitated. "What are you meowing about now?"

Trying not to let her hands shake with the excitement, Ronnie wrote on the mirror, in large letters: _I KNOW WHO KILLED YOU._

Myrtle read the text twice, mouthing the words as she did so. She looked at Ronnie with somewhat more interest than before, and then pouted and crossed her arms. "You're just saying that."

Ronnie shook her head eagerly.

Myrtle frowned. "Oh yes. I get it. You're not _saying_ it, you're _writing_ it. Ha ha, very funny. If you're going to make fun of me like that, you can just get out!"

Ronnie slapped her palm against her forehead. She took a deep breath to calm herself, gave Myrtle what she hoped was a scathing look, and then turned to breathe on the mirror again. As calmly as she possibly could, she wrote: _It's true. I know who killed you. I just figured it out._

After a slight pause, and deciding to make a gamble, she added: _They're in the Chamber of Secrets right now. I'll tell you everything when I get my human voice back. If you agree to help me._

"Well, now you went ahead and made me wish you weren't under that stupid charm," Myrtle complained. She sniffed and then shook her head. "No, you're just like the rest. You only want to help me when there's something in it for _you_. If you had any decency at all, you'd tell me who my murderer was right away without asking anything in return. I don't think I _feel_ like helping mean girls today!"

Ronnie could have strangled her, if the ghost had had a physical neck to strangle. Here Harry was in trouble, possibly it was already too late, and Moaning Myrtle was making everything more difficult. But without being able to actually talk, Ronnie had no chance of actually convincing her, or appeal to her better nature (if Myrtle even had a better nature to appeal to), or anything at all…

 _Unless._ The idea just came to her.

Slowly and elaborately, making certain that the ghost was watching, she breathed on the mirror again, and wrote, in even larger letters than before. _I'LL THROW YOU A PARTY._

That got a reaction. Myrtle blinked and stared at the mirror, then at Ronnie. "You'll what?"

 _Your fiftieth deathday_ , Ronnie wrote. Her finger was starting to ache a little, not being used to this kind of writing, but she kept up. _You wanted a party. I'll throw you one._

For about five seconds, Myrtle just stared at her with an open-mouthed expression of utter astonishment. "No-one's ever thrown me a party before…" she said in a hushed tone. After a few more seconds of silence, she added: "A _big_ party? With loads of guests, and music, and a tombstone-shaped cake like the one Nick had?"

Ronnie nodded desperately. She had no idea how to manage any of that, but for the moment it was more important to get to Harry.

"Well…" Myrtle seemed determined to make a big show out of hesitating, but the thought of a party just for her became too tempting. "All right. What do I have to do?"

 

 

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED…**

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not 100% sure, but I think this is the shortest chapter of the story yet. Again, most of it was set-up and exposition, but at least a few mysteries found their answer. Next chapter… well, there's still a monster and a rat to deal with.
> 
> But more importantly: The Animal Talk Charm finally worked!
> 
> I will admit, I was a little uncertain on whether giving Crookshanks an actual voice would actually work for the story or not. After all, there's been Harry Potter fanfics with talking pets before — usually some snake that Harry adopts because he can talk to it — but honestly, I never found any of them very interesting to read about. Particularly the snakes never seem to have much in the way of personality, or much of a function in the story beyond showcasing Harry's Parseltongue.
> 
> Crookshanks, however, has a personality. In fact, of all the animals that show up in the books, Crookshanks is the most strongly-characterized one, and that's without a single spoken line. So when the time came to have him actually talk, I knew he needed a distinct way of talking; an accent or speech pattern that had as much personality as he did.
> 
> In the end, I modelled him on the Artful Dodger from Oliver Twist, especially the interpretation of the character from the 2001 TV series "Escape of the Artful Dodger." Imagining Crookshanks with Luke O'Loughlin's voice and faux-Cockney accent seemed to add something to him; not only did it encompass the aloofness, the stubborn independence, and the almost reluctant warmth and loyalty, but it also added a certain devil-may-care cheekiness that really made his dialogue fun to write. (And yes, Crookshanks calling Ronnie "Princess" is a direct reference to that series.)


	17. Heaven Is a Wonderful Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're back, and after a much shorter time at that!
> 
> After two chapters that were painstakingly hard to write, this chapter came pretty easy; I was hit by a burst of inspiration and wrote almost ten thousand words in two days, and then spent a few more doing some slight revising and polishing. And here's the result…
> 
> Bit of a warning: This chapter is probably the darkest in the story so far, and contains a potentially disturbing cliffhanger…

 

 

A few minutes later (Ronnie was certain she had never made the climb up all the stairs to the seventh floor quite that fast before!) the three of them were making their way up to that particular corridor on the seventh floor — Crookshanks in the lead, and Myrtle gliding effortlessly alongside Ronnie, chatting animatedly about what sort of party she wanted and looking more cheerful than Ronnie had ever seen her.

The Marauder's Map had not shown any kind of secret room or passageway in this corridor; Ronnie knew that much. But perhaps the Marauders hadn't known about it — or maybe Wormtail had found it and just never shared the information with the others.

"All right," said Crookshanks as they made the left turn to enter the corridor in question. "Now I'm gonna _— 'ello, what's this?"_

The sudden exclamation came as the first thing they saw — right there on the opposite wall from that tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy that Crookshanks had shown such an interest in before — was a door. A door that Ronnie was _certain_ hadn't been there before. It was highly polished and elaborate, with intricate carvings and brass handles; sticking out against the stone wall like a dragon trying to hide amongst pixies.

"That's it!" said Crookshanks, sounding halfway excited and halfway frustrated. "That's the bloody place! I've been trying to figure out 'ow to get in for ages, and no luck! And _now_ it just goes and shows up like that? What's this room got against cats, I'd like to know!"

Myrtle glided up to the door, giving it a curious look. _"This_ is the wall you wanted me to go through?" she said as she turned to Ronnie and gave her a pitying look. "Kitty-girl, this is what people with half a brain call a _door_. Even you living people can use them. You still owe me a party, though!" she added hurriedly. "I came along like you asked!"

Ronnie frowned at the door. "You're certain that this is where Wormtail took Harry?"

"Can't you _smell_ it?!" said Crookshanks. "Most obvious 'iding place ever! Not long since 'e came 'ere either, if I'm any judge."

"Right," said Ronnie. She fished her wand out of her robe pocket. She wouldn't be able to actually use it, she knew; not while she was still under the _Animaloqui_ — but hopefully she could bluff it. "Best chance is to get a drop on them. I count to three, then we charge in on them. Myrtle, stay back!"

"What?" Myrtle looked at her, clearly realising that the last part of Ronnie's feline speech had been directed at her but not understanding what it was about.

"I _said —"_ Ronnie tried to think of some way to get her meaning across without going to fetch a mirror to write on. Maybe she had some parchment in her pocket…

Myrtle rolled her eyes and huffed. "Oh, _fine_. You want me to fulfil my bargain. Okay, I'll go through your _wall_ for you."

"Wait! Myrtle, _no!"_ Ronnie called, but much too late. The ghost had spun around in mid-air and shot straight through the door.

Ronnie and Crookshanks looked at each other.

"So much for getting the drop —" Crookshanks began, but was interrupted by an unmistakable ghostly wail from behind the door.

Myrtle's silvery-white head poked out through the door, like a very unsettling hanger for a door-knocker. She didn't look upset or angry; her eyes were practically shining behind her glasses. "Kitty- girl!" she squealed. "You've got to _see_ this!"

Ronnie hurried over to the door. It turned out to be slightly ajar, and swung open without so much as a squeak from the hinges.

Myrtle swooped back into the room beyond. It was rather dark, so large that Ronnie couldn't see the far wall — but the flickering torches on the walls illuminated the parts closest to the door; the stone floor and the tall, arched ceiling.

As Ronnie entered the room with Crookshanks in step, she found to her surprise that it looked a lot like a rather cluttered and messy living room, with deep chairs, sofas, coffee tables and even a large, grand piano placed against one wall. A little further in, a rather untidy bed was surrounded by bookshelves and nightstands, upon which books and scrolls of parchment fought for space with chocolate wrappers and empty Butterbeer and Firewhisky bottles.

But what was weirder than any of this was the huge banner that had been hung up on the wall. Myrtle was floating beside it and pointing excitedly to the text, which read, in huge, spooky-looking and glowing letters:

 

_COME TO MOANING MYRTLE'S DEATHDAY PARTY!  
JUNE 13, 1993_

_MYRTLE ELIZABETH WARREN 1929-1943_  
_WE LOVE MYRTLE AND OLIVE HORNBY IS A TERRIBLE PERSON!_

 

"What the —" said Ronnie.

"D'you know what you and your cat have _done?"_ Myrtle giggled. "You've gone and discovered the Room of Requirement!"

Clearly, Ronnie's puzzled expression spoke for itself, so Myrtle sank down to her eye level again, to explain: "I've heard about this room, but I've never seen it before. It's one of those rooms that not even a ghost can find, because it doesn't always _exist!_ It only comes into being when someone really needs it — and when you enter it, it fills itself with the kind of things you need." She turned around again to look happily at the large banner. "This is exactly what I wanted! You have to put it up in the Great Hall, where everyone can see it!"

Ronnie was stunned. She knew that Hogwarts had many strange and secret rooms, but this went beyond anything she'd ever heard of before. A room that essentially granted your wishes? What if —

 _I need some way of breaking the Animaloqui charm so that humans can understand me again_ , she thought. _Can't break the spell because I don't know non-verbal magic yet, but —_

Suddenly, a book toppled from one of the bookshelves and fell to the floor right in front of her, with its cover page up. It read: _SILENT SPELLS — Learn Non-Verbal Magic in Three Easy Lessons and Eighteen Hard Lessons._

Ronnie growled in annoyance. All right, amend that to 'a room that essentially granted your wishes but was bloody cheeky about it.' Still, this was impressive — Hermione would no doubt have the time of her life in this room. She slid her wand back into her pocket and looked around.

"Over 'ere, Princess!" came the sudden voice of Crookshanks from further in.

Ronnie left the book on the floor and hurried towards him. More torches appeared on the wall to illuminate the darkness further, showing the cat standing by the now-visible far wall, in front of an arched doorway through which only a pitch-black darkness could be seen.

"They went through 'ere," he said with absolute certainty. "Not long ago either. And I fink I've sussed it out now!"

"What?" Ronnie blinked at him.

"The ghost says this room gives you what you need? Well, obviously, the rat needed a safe 'iding place what nobody could find, not even me. _And_ 'e needed a quick and easy way to get around! Bet you anything this room can create tunnels and passageways to _anywhere_ in the entire bloomin' school!"

"Including the Chamber of Secrets!" Ronnie exclaimed, getting it. "And! He had Harry with him — Harry would need for someone to be able to follow him so they could rescue him! That's why the door was there for _us_ to find!"

"Right you are, Princess!"

Ronnie looked at the doorway, peering in through the darkness. It was much too dark to see anything… hang on. She looked around and on the closest nightstand she spotted what she needed: A small golden lantern, shining with a friendly yellow light.

She grabbed it from the nightstand and moved back to the doorway to light up the darkness. What she saw was a short passageway that ended in — of all things — a long stone slide, smooth and polished and not entirely unlike the slide that the stairs to the girls' dormitories in Gryffindor Tower would turn into when a boy tried to climb them.

"Looks like Wormtail took Harry on a slide," said Ronnie. "Maybe he's not a pervert after all. Maybe he's just a big kid whose Mummy didn't take him to the park enough."

"Will you look at this!" Myrtle called from her end of the room.

She had been busy admiring her deathday banner, and now more things were surrounding her: A collection of black candles that glowed with an eerie blue light, a few dusty-looking music instruments, and a somewhat crude, but very clear, animated drawing that featured a very corporeal-looking Myrtle kicking a girl labelled _Olive Hornby._

"This is going to be the best party ever!" said Myrtle happily. "It's going to be in June! You promised!"

Ronnie opened her mouth, but then closed it again and looked around. Just as she'd hoped; on the nightstand where she had found the lantern, there was now a small blackboard and a piece of chalk.

She picked them both up and hurriedly wrote down what she wanted to tell Myrtle. Then she held up the blackboard, holding her hand over part of the message, so that the ghost could read:

 _Dunno if you've earned a party. You haven't actually_ _done_ _anything._

Myrtle gaped. Her eyes widened behind her glasses, and she turned, if possible, even whiter than normal. "That's so _unfair_!" she wailed, starting to build up to one of her classic tantrums. "I _did_ what you asked me to do! I _went_ through the stupid wall! It's not _my_ fault it was a door! And," she added as she thought of something else, "I told you what this room was, didn't I, you wouldn't have known _anything_ if it wasn't for me —"

Having expected this, Ronnie moved her hand so that Myrtle could read the rest of the message:

_I need one more favour. Then I'll throw you the biggest party Hogwarts has seen._

Myrtle stopped mid-tantrum. "The biggest?!" she said excitedly, looking at her banner — which now suddenly read:

 

_COME TO MOANING MYRTLE'S DEATHDAY PARTY!  
JUNE 13, 1993_

_**THE BIGGEST GHOST BASH OF THE CENTURY!** _

 

She got a dreamy look in her eyes, clearly imagining just how big the _'biggest ghost bash of the century'_ might look. "All right," she said. "What's the favour?"

Ronnie flipped the blackboard over, so show Myrtle what she'd written on the other side:

_Find my friends. Tell them I've gone down to the Chamber of Secrets to rescue Harry. Tell them how to get in here. If you can find Dumbledore, tell him too._

Myrtle pouted. "That's an _awful_ lot to ask for a measly party," she complained, before turning more contemplative. "Still… biggest ghost bash of the century… It's not every day you get one of those…" She sighed. "All right, fine. I'll find your stupid friends for you. But this had _better_ be the best party ever thrown!"

With that, she tore herself away from the banner and flew out through the half-open door.

Crookshanks watched her vanish. "So, what now, Princess?" he said.

"Now," said Ronnie, "I'm going down. Hey, Room!" she called out, certain by now that the Room of Requirement understood her even when she was talking feline. "I need help! I've got to face Slytherin's monster and free Harry!"

And then she blinked in surprise.

On the wall beside he darkened doorway, a painting had suddenly materialised — a painting of a colourful and majestic-looking rooster, which cocked its head and looked at her curiously.

"What the _hell?!"_ She stared at the painting. Yeah, this Room was _definitely_ being cheeky. "Is this your way of telling me I'm too _chicken_ to face the monster?! Don't you at least have some kind of weapon I could have?"

A knife appeared on the nightstand. It was fairly small, with a red leather sheath and an elaborately decorated handle, carved to vaguely resemble the head of a lion.

 _"Thanks,"_ she said, putting all the feline sarcasm she could in her voice, as she picked the knife up and slid it into her robe pocket — the same pocket which held her wand. "Crookshanks, you'd better stay here."

"Bugger that, I'm coming with you. In fact — I'm going first to check the place out!" Crookshanks darted into the darkness and vanished down the slide.

Ronnie opened and closed her mouth. Then, clutching the lantern so she'd at least have some light, she hurled herself after him.

 

* * *

 

Down, down, down it went, faster and faster, the wind roaring in her ears as she sped downwards, down an endlessly long slide. It was almost completely dark around her, the lantern doing its best to provide a bit of light but clearly fighting a losing battle. At most, she could perhaps see the hint of walls around the slide; rough stone walls which seemed to grow rougher the further down she got.

Now she had to be all the way down at ground level — probably deeper, maybe as deep as the dungeons.

The stone slide suddenly arched, and Ronnie had just enough time to see the huge metal pipe across the slide; like the biggest sewer pipe ever. She was speeding right towards the pipe and realised too late that she was going to crash into it — when all of a sudden, she didn't. Somehow, she had gone through the metal wall and now she was sliding down _inside_ the large pipe.

The trip turned less smooth; the pipe twisted and turned even as it kept going down. Ronnie collided with the curves and spun around, but nothing could stop her rapid descent; she was going deeper and deeper and deeper…

Just as she began fearing that this ride was going to go straight to the core of the Earth where she would drown in magma (what a way to get rid of sewage!), the pipe levelled out and she shot out of the end, sliding across an uncomfortably damp stone floor until she came to a halt a few feet from a slimy stone wall.

She sat on the floor for a few moments, trying to gather herself after the dizzying ride, as Crookshanks appeared in front of her, flicking his bottle-brush tail.

"Fun ride, innit?" he said without apparent irony, before lifting his paws one by one and shaking them in obvious disgust at the damp floor. "Coulda done without the damp, mind. And someone's been doing a lotta snacking down 'ere."

"A lot of _what?"_ said Ronnie. And then realised what he meant: The lantern was lighting the place up enough that she could see that the floor was littered with the bones of small animals. Mostly rats, it seemed, but a few larger ones too. "Oh, _ugh!"_

She got to her feet and held the lantern up to get a better look at her surroundings — making certain to hold it at an angle so she wouldn't blind herself with the light. They were at the end of a long, dark stone tunnel, large enough for her to stand upright in. They had to be miles underground — probably somewhere underneath the lake, if the slimy walls and damp floor were any indication.

She checked to see if she still had her Warning Fang, and she did — it was still on its chain around her neck, and completely cool against her skin. Seemed like there was no immediate danger around, at least.

"Harry's down here somewhere," she said. "So's Wormtail. And the monster. Can you find Harry? You know, without Wormtail or the monster noticing you?"

Crookshanks cocked his head and looked at her. "I'm a _cat,"_ he said dryly. "Wanna repeat that question, Princess?"

"Er. Right. Sorry."

"C'mon, it's this way."

The tunnel was eerily silent around them as they made their way down it. Ronnie listened for the sound of a monster roaring, or any voices belonging to Harry or Wormtail, but she couldn't hear anything.

It was almost like moving through a maze, except there was only one path, one which turned and darted around in so many directions that in the end Ronnie had no idea which direction they were going anymore; whether they were moving away from Hogwarts grounds or just zig-zagging and spiralling around underneath the castle.

Crookshanks, however, was trotting on with no hesitation. Until, suddenly, he stopped, stiffened, and then hissed: _"The rat!_ Quick, Princess, 'ide!" With that, he seemed to melt into the shadows, not even his yellow eyes visible anymore.

Ronnie stiffened, frantically trying to put out the lantern and looking for places to hide. Now she could hear footsteps, short and nervous… This time she didn't have an Invisibility Cloak to hide her. She hurried to place the lantern in her pocket and darted in towards a bend in the tunnel, pressing herself against the wall and hoping that her black school robes would blend in with the darkness.

From her not-much-of-a hiding place, she could see the shine of a soft light on the walls ahead; someone was coming up the tunnel and using a Wand-Lighting charm to light their way.

And there — the face was partly lit up by the wand, giving it an eerie, and almost monstrous, appearance, but she knew him at once: _Wormtail._

He didn't appear to have seen her. He was making the same mistake as a lot of people at night; he was holding his wand too close to his face, thereby effectively blinding himself and making it harder for him to spot anything in the dark.

"Go out and see to it we're not being followed, Wormtail," she heard him mutter to himself. "I need a reliable guard, Wormtail. He couldn't send the _snake_ , oh no, the snake's too _important…"_

His breath was heavy in the dark, as he stopped only a few feet away from her. She could reach out and touch him.

"Why did I do this?" he said in a hushed, yet pained voice. "Why didn't I just leave that stupid diary alone? Because I'm an idiot, that's why," he answered himself. "Because I thought I could control it. Now I'm stuck — _who's there?!"_

Ronnie's heart jumped, but Wormtail was turning around and facing away from her. The bald spot on the back of his head practically gleamed against her. "I know you're there!" he cried. "I-I'm aiming at you with my wand!"

Ronnie pulled her arm back and punched the back of his head as hard as she could. Her hand practically exploded in pain, but Wormtail collapsed like a sack of wet flour. His wand fell out of his hand, the light going out and leaving the tunnel in almost total darkness.

For a long moment, she just stood clutching her aching hand and trying to make out the silent shadowy form lying flat on the floor in front of her. Then, slowly, she fished the lantern back out of her pocket to shine the light down on the crumpled and clearly unconscious man.

"…Wormtail?" she said carefully.

No answer.

She straightened herself just a little. "Crookshanks?"

No answer there either. For a brief second she thought perhaps Wormtail had fallen on top of the cat and squashed him when he fell, but a quick check told her that this thankfully hadn't happened. And he wasn't hiding in any of the shadows either, as far as she could see — he simply wasn't there.

Weird — it wasn't like Crookshanks to abandon her like this, especially not after he'd insisted on coming along with her. Maybe he'd got the scent of Harry and followed it. Yeah, that'd be it.

She didn't know how long Wormtail would stay unconscious — she'd punched pretty hard but she'd never actually knocked anyone out before. Should she tie him up or something? No, she didn't have any rope. But she could at least take his wand.

Where had it gone off to? She swung the lantern around, sending the light all around he stone floor to see if she could find it.

There it was — several feet away. It had rolled surprisingly far, considering the odd and irregular shape of it. Ronnie moved up to the strange wand and crouched down to grab it.

And then, the Warning Fang was suddenly hot against her chest. She had just enough time to gasp and turn around to see the figure of Wormtail pouncing on her. Unprepared for this, she lost her balance and fell on her stomach, the lantern falling out of her hand and hitting the floor, whereupon it went out, and everything was darkness, and a huge chaos of arms and legs and tunnel floor and walls as they rolled around on the floor.

"I knew I heard someone!" Wormtail's voice in the dark, close to her ear as she struggled. _"HELP!"_ he shouted. _"HELP! MY LORD, HELP! INTRUDER! MURDERER! HELP!"_

The entire thing would have been ridiculous if it hadn't been so awful. Ronnie rolled around and kicked and punched, but in the darkness she couldn't see where she was punching, and her hand was still hurting.

She managed to wrestle herself out of his grasp, rolling around so she was raised up on her knees, reaching for her pocket to pull out her wand — or no, she couldn't use her wand, maybe —

_"Lumos!"_

A bright light shone in her eyes, blinding her. Instinctively she raised her hands to shield her face, hissing like a cat.

 _"You!"_ came Wormtail's surprised voice.

She hissed again. Somehow, now that she was stuck speaking cat language, the man's rattishness just seemed that much more noticeable.

"You're not supposed to be here," Wormtail moaned. "What am I going to do, what am I going to — oh, oh, _Imperio!"_

"No!" Ronnie screamed in terror as she realised what was happening. "Not the Imperius! _Anything but the —"_

The world changed, turning pink and happy as the feeling of bliss washed over her, draining all worries and all thoughts right out of her head.

"…oh…" Her protest drowned in a happy little sigh as she relaxed and let her hands fall to her sides. Why had she ever been afraid of this…? Floating in a sweet mist of happiness, without a thought or concern… She barely even noticed how her Warning Fang was burning against her chest anymore. Nothing mattered, except for how good she felt.

Oh, how good she felt.

Wormtail's voice sounded again, faint as if she was hearing it in a dream. "You shouldn't be here. He only wanted Harry. Maybe… maybe if I just order you to go away, to forget you were ever here, and then I can just pretend nothing happened… no, he'll know. He always knows."

Ronnie didn't know what he was talking about, but she didn't care…. It felt _good_ not to care… she never wanted to care about anything ever again.

"I'll have to take you to him," said Wormtail. "It's the only way. I-I'm really sorry about this, Ronnie. But it's, it's not my fault. You shouldn't have come down here. You should have minded your own business. It's your own fault. Come on. Get up and follow me. Please."

There was no such thing as disobeying. Ronnie raised herself, the sweet feeling of bliss filling her entire body, all the way down to her toes, and even her hair and her fingernails felt good…

Walking on pink, happy clouds, she followed Wormtail into a world of light and sweetness.

 

* * *

 

Heaven. She was in Heaven.

She wasn't sure how long it had been — time really didn't have any meaning anymore — but Wormtail had led her into the most beautiful place she had ever seen.

A large, open space, filled with the prettiest colours and shapes. She was surrounded by the cutest animals, all staring affectionately at her. And somewhere in the distance a huge figure — a beautiful woman with the prettiest, kindest face — was smiling down at her. Ronnie could feel the love and warmth radiating from her

Ronnie followed Wormtail as he made his way towards the woman… oh, there were three smaller figures down by her. One of them was standing up, rather tall but still dwarfed by the beautiful woman, though something about this figure — perhaps something about the way Wormtail was directing her towards it — just radiated that this was someone important.

There were two other figures there too, lying down, on pink happy clouds, but only one of them was in any way important, because that (she dimly realised) was her dear friend Harry, her best friend in the entire world. How wonderful that he was here in Heaven with her.

"Ronnie!" he cried when he saw her.

"Ronnie?" the standing figure repeated. "So…you _were_ followed, Wormtail?"

"I-it would appear so, my Lord," said Wormtail. "She, er, she tried to hide, but I had no problems finding her. Sh-she's not a threat, my Lord, I have her safe under the Imperius, she'll do anything you tell her to…"

Yes. Yes, she would. She would obey this Lord. He… yes, it was probably a he… was the sort of person to obey. Mindless, blissful obedience… Ronnie almost sighed with happiness.

"Ronnie," said Harry, his voice reaching her from somewhere far away, and it was clear that he was overjoyed at seeing her here in Heaven. "Let her go, Wormtail!"

"Er — sorry, no. Can't do that."

 _"Peter,"_ Harry pleaded in a very cheerful tone. "Why are you doing this?! Why are you helping him?! My parents were your _friends!"_

"Harry, Harry," said the Lord in a very sweet and friendly voice. "There is no point in trying to appeal to Wormtail. He's _my_ friend now, aren't you, Wormtail? We've grown very close these last couple of months."

"Y-Yes, my Lord," said Wormtail. "G-greatest of friends! You know, I was always your most loyal follower — I mean, I mean your older self! I alone never wavered…!"

"So he keeps telling me," said the Lord, smiling brilliantly. "Just between the two of us, Harry, I suspect that he's stretching the truth just a _little_ when he talks of his many years of selfless loyalty and servitude to my older self—"

"I would never lie to you, my Lord!"

"— but I suppose you have to forgive your friends their little quirks and flaws." The Lord smiled again. "For instance… Wormtail?"

"M-my Lord?"

"Did you make certain she was alone?"

There was a long, happy pause before Wormtail answered: "Er… yes, my Lord."

"In other words," said the Lord, "you _didn't_. What are you standing here for? Go out and make certain we don't have any more visitors! Oh, and Wormtail?"

"Yes, my Lord?"

"If there _are_ any, do us both a favour and kill them straight away, instead of dragging them back here under the Imperius. We _are_ in the middle of something here."

Wormtail murmured something inaudible, and then walked away, vanishing into the pink, happy mist and leaving Ronnie alone with her best friend Harry and the others, in this perfect little piece of paradise. She was almost sorry to see him go… but it didn't really matter. Nothing really mattered.

The Lord focused on Ronnie now; smiling very sweetly. "So," it said. "The famous Veronica Weasley in person."

"Let her go, Riddle," said Harry.

"I wouldn't dream of it," said the Lord, whose name was apparently Riddle...

 _Riddle._ For a brief moment, Ronnie's pink and happy world was darkened by a slight sting of uncertainty… there was something about that name that felt like it deserved a certain reaction from her, but for the life of her she couldn't figure out what that reaction was supposed to be. It was really hard to think…

Then, the uncertainty faded, and the pink happiness welled back up again. She didn't need to think. She didn't need to react. She just needed to feel good…

"We've spoken before, Veronica…" said Lord Riddle. "Or rather, we've _written_ before. You called yourself 'Draco Malfoy' at the time." He chuckled and shook his head. "You actually fooled me for a while there. Didn't your mother ever teach you that it's not nice to lie?"

Ronnie didn't answer. She was back in her state of perfect bliss.

"Now then…" said Lord Riddle. "Veronica. What are you doing here, and who else knows you're here? Talk!"

"My mother _did_ teach me that it is not nice to lie," said Ronnie. Talking took some effort, but it was worth it for the intense feeling of pleasure obedience brought with it. "I came down to the Chamber of Secrets with my cat Crookshanks to rescue my friend Harry Potter from a rat… I sent Moaning Myrtle to tell my friends where to find me, so very likely they will follow… hopefully Professor Dumbledore as well…"

Lord Riddle scowled kindly at her. "I said _talk!"_ he demanded.

"I am talking," said Ronnie happily.

"Stop that meowing, you stupid girl! What's wrong with you? _Talk!"_

Ronnie closed her mouth. She was a stupid girl, there was no doubt about that, and now two contradicting orders were battling for dominance inside her. She was supposed to talk, but she wasn't supposed to meow. But she was stuck speaking cat language… she _couldn't_ talk without meowing.

A feeling of disconcert spread through the feeling of bliss. Ronnie didn't know what to do. She couldn't disobey, but she couldn't obey. As the feeling of pink happiness lessened, the sharp pain of the red-hot Warning Fang against her chest grew sharper, more distracting.

Lord Riddle had turned to Harry. "Harry," it said. "She's _your_ friend. Tell me, why is she meowing instead of talking?"

"I-I don't know," said Harry.

"Oh, I think you do," said Lord Riddle. "You just don't want to tell me. Well — Wormtail is surprisingly good at the Imperius… Perhaps I should order her to kill herself? No doubt she will be happy to do it."

 _"No!"_ Harry cried. "It's the _Animaloqui!_ The Animal Talk Charm! She must have placed it on herself so she could speak to her cat…"

"Ah." Lord Riddle nodded. _"Animaloqui._ The cheap substitute for proper Zoolingualism. That complicates things a little — if she had been speaking Parseltongue it wouldn't have been a problem, but I can't interrogate someone who only speaks _cat_ language. I could break the Charm quite easily, of course, but — a _Finite Incantatem_ would break the nice Imperius she is under. Oh well. Forget the interrogation. We can just use her as leverage. Cooperate with me, Harry, and your friend lives a while longer."

"You're just going to kill her anyway," said Harry. "You're going to kill the both of us."

"I _might_ not," Lord Riddle smiled. "Oh, I'm going to kill _you_ , but I might be persuaded to spare _her_. If you cooperate, that is. Veronica… go stand over there while Harry and I finish our talk."

"Yes, my Lord," Ronnie meowed, relieved that she had an order that she, as a stupid girl, could actually obey. The pinkness of the world was pinker than ever as she turned and walked in the direction Riddle had pointed… It felt so good to obey, like she was walking on air...

In front of her, the enormous figure of the giant beautiful woman was towering up. She didn't say anything, but she was so incredibly pretty, and seemed so warm and welcoming, that Ronnie was certain that just standing there next to her and taking in the radiant beauty would be a perfectly acceptable way of spending eternity.

"Now…" Riddle's pleasant voice was far away, but that was okay, it clearly wasn't talking to her at the moment. "Where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?"

Harry said something in reply, but Ronnie couldn't hear him through the fog of happiness. It didn't really matter anyway, he wasn't talking to her either, and she was happy just standing here, with the beautiful woman… a happy, stupid girl…

_Ow!_

Suddenly there was a sharp pain in her ankle. And this causes the pain against her chest to well up again; her Warning Fang was still hot. That meant something…

"Wake _up,_ Princess!" someone hissed down by her feet.

Another sharp pain, this time in her other ankle.

"Stop that," Ronnie muttered. "I don't want to wake up… I feel good…. _Ow!"_

_"Princess!"_

"Crookshanks!" The sudden realisation dissolved the pink mist, and reality slammed down on Ronnie like a ton of bricks.

She wasn't in Heaven. She wasn't in any kind of pink and beautiful place. She was in a dark, freakishly spooky stone chamber with a high, arched ceiling and an extremely serpentine décor.

What she had thought were cute animals surrounding her were in fact stone pillars decorated with very lifelike stone snakes, all of them silently watching her with emerald eyes.

The beautiful smiling woman that she'd been so happy to stand next to was in fact a huge stone statue at the far end of the Chamber; an imposing and threatening old wizard with a long beard and a strange, almost monkeyish face, scowling at the world with blind stone eyes.

There was Harry, true enough, but he wasn't lying on a pink fluffy cloud — he was lying on a hard, dirty stone floor, tied up with thick ropes so he couldn't move.

The other figure lying next to him, which Ronnie in her pink stupor had dismissed as unimportant, was Harry's Aunt Petunia, looking pale and lying deathly still.

And there… A tall, dark-haired teenage boy, dressed in somewhat old-fashioned Hogwarts school robes, was holding the tied-up Harry at wandpoint. He was oddly blurry around the edges, as if he wasn't quite in focus.

Her heart nearly stopped as she realised who he was: _Tom Riddle._ You-Know-Who in person.

But not You-Know-Who as she had seen him last year; a hissing and ugly spectre. Tom Riddle might be blurry around the edges, but otherwise he looked human enough… and young too; he couldn't be more than a few years older than Ronnie.

For a long moment, all the blood in her veins feeling like it had been replaced with ice, she could only stare. This was what she'd mistaken for Heaven.

Through her icy feeling, she felt dirty. She was disgusting and pathetic. It had happened again; just like last year, she'd fallen under the Imperius like a helpless baby and not even been able to _think_ of resisting.

Something soft and furry was stroking against her legs, and she realised that Crookshanks was there. The cat was looking up at her with big, yellow eyes, bottle-brush tail twitching.

When he saw that she was awake, he gave her a final look, and then — silent as a shadow — he had vanished behind one of the snake-pillars.

Riddle, for the moment, didn't seem to have noticed Crookshanks, or the fact that Ronnie was awake. He was still focused on Harry. "But," he was saying, "I wanted to ask you a question, Harry. As I said, that was why I had Wormtail bring you to me in the first place." He twirled the wand between his fingers and took on a casual tone. "How is it that you — by all means and appearances a perfectly ordinary boy with no great magical talents — managed to defeat my older self?"

"Er —" Harry blinked.

"It's the one missing piece of the puzzle. Wormtail couldn't answer it. I don't remember it, since it's technically in my future. And anyone else who was there is dead. So, the answer must lie with you."

Ronnie suddenly got it.

This _wasn't_ the You-Know-Who the Gang had fought last year. This was You-Know-Who from the past. The part of him that had inhabited that damn diary, the part that talked back and made people do things. That was why he was so blurry too; he had somehow escaped the pages of the diary, but not fully. He was corporeal enough to hold a wand — a wand that Ronnie now recognised as _Harry's —_ but probably not much more.

That meant there was a chance.

He wasn't paying any attention to her. All he was interested in was Harry — stupid girl under the Imperius probably didn't seem worth paying much attention to. So she carefully took on a blank expression again and tried to pretend like she was still in her own little happy world, while her mind desperately searched for a way out of this…

"There _is_ something here that doesn't quite add up, you must admit," said Riddle, looking at Harry with an expression of curious detachment. "Lord Voldemort, the greatest wizard in the world, vanquished by a mere baby? Not likely. And yet, it happened. So what's your secret, Harry?"

"Er..."

"Go on, share," said Riddle with a mocking grin. "The longer this pleasant little talk lasts, the longer you live… and the longer your _friend_ lives. As for your Aunt… Well. Two out of three isn't bad."

Ronnie chanced a look over at Petunia Dursley, who was lying on her back, and — Ronnie now realised — was clutching a small black book that could only be Riddle's diary.

If Vernon Dursley had looked terrible when they found him, Petunia looked worse. Already on the skinny side, she had been reduced to little more than skin and bones. She was deathly pale, her blonde hair having turned almost completely grey, and she looked more dead than alive.

Actually… maybe she _was_ dead. From where she was standing, Ronnie couldn't even tell if the woman was breathing.

It seemed like Harry was thinking the same thing. "Is she dead?" he asked, his voice oddly thick.

"Not yet," said Riddle pleasantly, "but she's getting there. I can feel myself getting stronger all the time… and her getting weaker. When she's faded completely… I'll be fully alive again."

Was it Ronnie's imagination, or was Petunia starting to get rather blurry around the edges now, too…?

Slowly, so that Riddle wouldn't notice any sharp movements, she slipped her hand down her pocket. Not much to help her there. She had a wand that was still useless, and a knife…

"You know, Harry, we have some time to kill," said Riddle. "Neither of us is going anywhere until your Aunt is dead. So, let me tell you a little about those guardians of yours. After all, I've had the pleasure of their company for a couple of months now, and got to know them quite intimately. Pitiful Muggles, both of them, but _useful…"_

"Useful." Harry sounded nauseous.

"Oh, your Uncle, not so much. He was rather boring, to tell you the truth. Narrow-minded and petty. All he had in his soul was silly little Muggle concerns and complaints. So eager to denounce anything 'abnormal,' so obsessed with conformity… but in the end, he couldn't even say _why_ that was so important to him. There was no depth, no real substance to him."

A rather gleeful smile spread on Riddle's face as his eyes fell on Petunia. "But _her,_ on the other hand…" He chuckled darkly. "I had _much_ more fun with her. I'd say it was almost a pity she wasn't a witch, because she would have made a _magnificent_ Dark one. Such _hatred_. Such _jealousy_. Such _exquisite_ loathing… of your dear mother, certainly, but of _you_ in particular. She could never forgive what you had done to her."

Harry swallowed. "I never did anything to her…" he said.

"Oh, no. You just _existed_ , as a constant reminder of what a failure, what a terrible person she was." Riddle sounded like he was enjoying himself. "You were everything your mother had been, everything Petunia wanted to be but couldn't — good-looking, good-natured, and of course magical. Oh, how she _hated_ everything magical, because every little bit of it reminded her of how much she hated herself."

Ronnie felt vaguely sick at Riddle's obvious glee.

"People like that…" he said. "They're so _easy_ to steer, with just a little persuasion. I'll admit it, when Wormtail suggested getting your Aunt and Uncle instead of going for a proper witch or wizard… I had my doubts. How could a couple of lowly Muggles be enough to bring back the greatest wizard of all time? I needn't have worried. There was so much hatred in your Aunt that once I got her to tell me her secrets… pour out her soul to me… I grew powerful. Faster than I had expected, I was able to leave the pages of the diary… And here we are."

Riddle chuckled darkly, prodding the still Petunia with his foot. For a moment, it looked like his foot was merging with her side. "I've almost drained her completely. In just a few minutes, I think… I'll be fully alive again. Never underestimate the power of hatred, Harry — that's a lesson for life. Not that yours is going to be very much longer."

A movement caught the corner of Ronnie's eye. Crookshanks was back — and in his mouth he was carrying the lantern that Ronnie had used to light her way down the tunnel. It had long since, gone out, but…

_Idea._

Not a _good_ idea, but an idea all the same.

Riddle had turned back to Harry, all pleasant smiles again. "So, before you die, how about telling me that secret I wanted to know? How is it that an apparently powerless baby could defeat the greatest wizard in the world?"

Harry hesitated. "Will you let Ronnie go if I tell you?"

"Perhaps."

There was a long pause. Riddle was looking intensely at Harry, who was looking in all other directions except for at him, clearly at a loss for an answer.

Ronnie grabbed the chance. As Harry glanced over to her, she moved her head and very briefly winked at him, pointing towards Crookshanks and letting her hand twitch in what she hoped he'd be able to identify as a sign for him to pretend he hadn't seen anything.

She wasn't sure, but there seemed to be a look of relief in his green eyes. Moments later, he turned to Riddle and said: "All right. But it's not really a secret. Everybody knows it." He looked straight at Riddle and said: "You're not the greatest wizard in the world."

Riddle's smile vanished. "Excuse me?"

"Everyone knows _Albus Dumbledore's_ the greatest wizard in the world!" said Harry. "You were never able to defeat him, not even at the height of your power!"

"I've been operating right under Dumbledore's nose for months!" Riddle snapped.

"Skulking in shadows and hiding with the rats? Yeah, that's the sign of a great wizard! You don't even have your own wand, you had to steal mine!"

"You insolent —!" Riddle drew himself up and pointed the wand at Harry.

And that was when Ronnie threw the lantern at him.

The golden lighting device flew in an arc through the air, passed straight through Riddle and hit the wand he was holding — and the wand was knocked out of his hand and fell to the floor.

At once, Crookshanks was there like an orange streak of lightning. Before the surprised Riddle could bend over to pick the wand up, Crookshanks had snatched it up, and ran off with the wand in his mouth.

Riddle spun around to look at Ronnie, just as she had drawn her own wand from her pocket and pointed it at him. All pleasantness had vanished from his face; now he looked murderous — in fact, in that one moment he looked a lot more like the ugly wraith that she'd seen last year. _"Treachery!"_ he snarled.

"You're one to talk!" Ronnie hissed, aware that he wouldn't understand her but unable to stop herself.

Crookshanks had ran up to Harry with the wand, and now he placed it gently down in the boy's hands, which were still tied behind his back but could grasp the wand.

"This is what I get for trying to keep people alive as leverage," Riddle snarled. "I should have killed you the moment I saw you. But it's not too late for that!" He straightened himself and let out a series of loud, eerie hissing noises.

There was a scraping noise far above them all, as the statue's gigantic face came to life much as the stone snakes had. Slowly, it opened its mouth, wider and wider, to form a gigantic black hole.

And within that hole, something was moving, a darkened silhouette slithering up from inside the statue. Slytherin's monster was slowly coming into view. The Warning Fang against her neck practically exploded with heat.

 _"Incendio!"_ Harry's voice cried. When Ronnie looked, burning remains of the rope that had bound him, were falling to the floor. He raised himself, somewhat unsteadily, having closed his eyes and clutched his wand. "Don't look, Ronnie!" he panted. "The thing that Petrified Lavender and Lockhart — _it's a basilisk!"_

"A basil—!" Ronnie immediately averted her eyes, but not before she got a glimpse of the enormous green serpent as it sprang out of the statue's mouth. _I think I saw its eyes, I'm dead! No, wait, I'm okay._

Of all the magical and non-magical animals that had figured in the books Ronnie had borrowed of Charlie up through her childhood, the basilisk — the King of Serpents — was one of the very few she wasn't particularly eager to meet. Not merely because basilisks had a reputation for being savage and near-uncontrollable, and were almost impossible to kill, let alone tame — and not merely because its venom was so poisonous that it could kill an elephant in a matter of minutes. No… the main reason were the _eyes._ Look a basilisk in the eyes, and you die instantly. Having one of _those_ gaze adoringly at you could prove fatal.

Suddenly, the picture of the rooster back at the Room of Requirement made much more sense. One of the few things that could kill a basilisk was the cry of a rooster — the Room hadn't been cheeking her, it had been trying to warn her!

And now, there was a tremble on the ground as the body of an impossibly-big serpent landed on the stone floor.

Harry was next to her, grabbing her arm. "Ronnie, we have to run!"

Ronnie, however, shook her head and forced herself to remain calm, even though the Warning Fang was still hurting against her chest. The first rule when you were around animals was to never make any sudden movements. She closed her eyes tightly and took a slight step backwards. "Hello," she said, making her feline voice as calm and soothing as she could. "Nice to meet you, never met a basilisk before… I'm friendly, see? Not gonna hurt you…"

The basilisk answered her with an impossibly loud hiss, and then —

Ronnie felt Harry grab onto her and pull her back, just as the basilisk's jaw snapped shut right where her head had just been.

Riddle was laughing. "You can't tame Slytherin's monster!" he cried with glee. "It obeys only me!" With that, he let out another, much harsher-sounding hisses, no doubt telling he basilisk to hurry up and kill her.

 _"Bugger!"_ Ronnie yelped. _"Crookshanks, get out of here!"_ Hoping her cat would do as he told her for once, she tried to grab Harry's hand and run with him —

— but then she tripped and fell over an inconveniently-placed sack of icy-cold cloth and bones that someone had inconsiderately placed in her way. She landed on her stomach again, draped over the uncomfortably-cold pile, with Harry almost landing on top of her.

Riddle hissed something again, and Ronnie braced herself, waiting for the pain of the giant serpent jaws closing around her.

But nothing happened. The basilisk was still moving around; she could hear the slithering, but it had pulled back.

Harry was clutching her tightly. "Don't move!" he hissed in a low tone. "We're right on top of Aunt Petunia… She's still alive… and Riddle tells the basilisk not to attack because he doesn't want to risk that the diary is damaged!"

_Diary!_

Ronnie had no idea how Harry could tell what Riddle was saying to the basilisk, but it made sense. If he was emerging from the pages of the diary… She thrust out her hand and felt a bony, hollow-cheeked face. True enough — what she had thought was a pile of bones and cloth was in fact Petunia Dursley. The woman was as cold as ice and she hadn't reacted to being fallen onto, but Ronnie barely had the time to feel sorry for her. Feverishly, she fumbled around until her fingers grasped around a familiar leathery cover.

She tore the diary out of Petunia's loose grip and held it up in front of herself, like a shield.

"Let go of that diary," came Riddle's voice, nearly trembling with fury.

"Eat dragon dung!" Ronnie hissed, holding the diary firmly in her hands. " If the snake comes close I'll shove the diary down its throat!"

"Stalemate, Riddle," Harry panted. "You can't order the basilisk to attack us without risking the diary — and you can't touch us because you're not corporeal enough!"

Riddle drew an angry breath. "Think you're being clever, do you?" he said. "Well, you haven't won. You're only postponing the inevitable. I'm almost fully alive, and you can't stop the process. As soon as I'm fully corporeal…! What are you doing?"

Eyes still firmly closed, Ronnie had managed to fish the lion-headed knife out of her pocket. So, Riddle didn't want the diary to be damaged, did he? Seemed like the Room or Requirement had given her the right tool for the job after all!

"No, stop!" Riddle cried as Ronnie thrust the knife straight at the diary.

It was like trying to pierce diamond. The knife just skidded across the cover and instead the blade pierced the skin of Ronnie's other hand with a sharp, stinging pain. She hissed and almost dropped the book, as blood began running down her hand.

"Ronnie!" said Harry, who seemed to have risked a peek. His hand clutched her bleeding one, his other hand moving to clutch the diary.

Riddle's protesting cry turned into a mocking laugh. "That was it?" he said. "That was pathetic. As last stands go… you really had no chance. And now… you're too late!"

All of a sudden, Harry was crying out as if in pain. And at the exact same time, Petunia sank together underneath Ronnie, exhaling in a sickening way, and the diary suddenly turned so cold that it burned Ronnie's hand and she had to let go of it.

Ronnie inadvertently opened her eyes to see that Petunia had opened hers. The woman was staring up at Ronnie with a look of pure hate in her eyes.

And then she turned ash-grey and her body started to crumble.

"No!" Ronnie screamed. "No, no, _NO!"_ But to no avail. Petunia's body was dissolving underneath her, tattered clothes suddenly containing nothing more than grey, lifeless dust.

Harry was still writing in pain next to her, his face contorted into a horrible grimace. His hands, still holding the diary, moved up to clutch his forehead, but it was as if the diary was stuck to his hands and he just ended up slamming the book against his face.

There was a horrible rumbling sound, and Harry jerked and went limp against Ronnie, the diary falling out of his hand and landing in the pile of grey ash with a sickeningly dry thump.

Ronnie cried out.

Riddle was standing in front of them. No longer blurry around the edges in the slightest, he stood as solid and present as either of them, holding his shaking hands out in front of his face. He clutched his fingers and took several deep breaths, beginning to laugh again, a triumphant mad laugh that echoed around the chamber.

Tom Riddle was alive.

 

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED…**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so… that happened.
> 
> On a scale from one to ten — one being the lowest, ten being the highest, and five being average — how angry are you with me for that cliffhanger?


	18. Come On, Then, If You Think You're Hard Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow, the chapters are just churning out lately! Here comes another update — and we're nearing the end of the story! Unless I end up miscalculating, there will be only one more chapter and then an epilogue… and then in 2017, the third novel of the trilogy will start.

" _Finally!"_ Riddle's ecstatic cry broke through the echoes of his laughter, his eyes shining with a mad glee. "Finally — my own body!" His hands were trembling a little as he raised them to the ceiling, bursting out in triumphant laughter once again.

"Harry!" Ronnie meowed, trying her best to ignore the pain in her hand as she nudged the unconscious boy who was slumped against her. "Harry, time to wake up!"

Harry groaned softly, twitching and then went limp again.

"I said, wake _up!"_ Desperately, Ronnie dropped the lion-headed knife and put her good hand down the front of her robe to pull out her still-burning-hot Warning Fang (it had left a rather angry red mark on her chest, she vaguely noted). Then she pressed it as hard as she could against Harry's forehead.

He pulled away from the pain, hands feebly trying to swat away the offending Warning Fang, when suddenly, the Fang was yanked out of Ronnie's hand by an invisible force, and went flying.

Ronnie turned to see Riddle holding it at the end of its chain. He had stopped laughing now, but was smiling down at them with a decidedly unpleasant smile. "Oh, yes," he said _. "You two."_

Letting go of Harry, Ronnie turned around, pulling her wand out of her pocket to point at him. "Stay back!" she warned, even realising herself how pathetic this must look.

"Oh, _please."_ Riddle dropped the Warning Fang, which fell to the stone floor with a tiny clunk. "You know as well as I do that you can't speak any incantations while under the _Animaloqui._ That sorry-looking excuse for a wand is no use to you."

 _"Incendio!"_ Ronnie tried to say, flicking her wand at Riddle — but the word only came out as a feline yowl and his robes completely failed to catch on fire.

Riddle chuckled again, taking a step back. "But I suppose you should be dealt with, before Potter comes to. Giving the matter a little more thought… I suppose I can live without knowing how he could defeat my older self. It's not like he'll have the opportunity to _repeat_ the feat. Since I'm no longer bound to the diary… I do owe Slytherin's pet a snack."

With that, he let out another series of sinister hisses.

The shadows moved, and something huge and poison-green shifted. The basilisk, which had been lurking at a distance, was approaching again. Ronnie shut her eyes, but she could sense the enormous serpent approach.

"It can swallow you in one gulp," came Riddle's self-satisfied voice. "It'll be over quick… Goodbye, little girl."

Harry was groaning underneath her. Ronnie blindly clamped her bleeding hand over his eyes, hoping that this would keep him from looking into the basilisk's deadly gaze, as she kept flicking her wand in the direction of the hiss, calling out the only spell she could think of. _"Incendio, Incendio, INCENDIO!"_

Suddenly, her wand felt like it would explode in heat in her hand, and there was a powerful gust of wind that nearly flattened her as the basilisk jerked up, a loud hiss of surprised pain emerging from it.

Once more, Ronnie's eyes opened on their own accord, to see the basilisk pull back. It was even bigger than she'd thought it would be; towering over her and seeming to take up half the Chamber of Secrets — and for the moment, a pillar of flame was burning in its open mouth.

Riddle cried out in surprise and hissed an order at the basilisk.

Realising that she'd only bought them a few moments with that surprisingly-effective fire spell, Ronnie got to her feet as she hauled up a dazed Harry. "Run!" she hissed. "Run, run, _run!"_

Harry stumbled, but managed to stay upright. Grasping Ronnie's hand tight, he began running.

"You can't escape!" Riddle roared after them as they sped down the long Chamber and up towards the entrance. "No-one can outrun a basilisk!"

And true enough; behind them the enraged hiss of the basilisk, clearly over its temporary case of throat-burn, came closer at an alarming speed.

 _"Incendio!_ _Immobulus! RITCUSEMPRA!"_ Harry was flinging his wand out behind him, trying to fire off whatever spells he could to slow it down — but since he couldn't turn around to look, he was apparently not having much luck with his aim. Either that, or the spells just didn't have any effect on the basilisk.

Ronnie could feel more than the saw how it was rearing back to strike. She pulled Harry down, and they hit the floor just as the basilisk struck. She cried out with the searing pain as its enormous fang pierced her leg.

Harry cried out at about the same time, and in her peripheral vision, through the immense pain, Ronnie could see his face contort as he screamed.

There was a brief flash of the serpent's bright green underbelly as it pulled back, and then it was gone from sight, leaving them both lying on the floor.

Tom Riddle stepped into view, looking down at them, his eyes gleaming with malice.

"It's over," he said. "That little escape attempt cost you your quick and easy deaths. Now you're in for a much more agonising one… you'll start feeling the venom spread through your veins."

"Oh, fuck…" Ronnie moaned. She risked a glance back, and saw that her too-short robes had slid up enough to expose her legs, and her bare right ankle was bleeding from a deep puncture wound. Next to her, Harry was twitching; his robes were punctured and soaked with blood.

The basilisk had got them both.

"It shouldn't take more than a minute or so," said Riddle gleefully, "but it should be incredibly painful while it lasts… I'll just stand here and watch you die, if you don't mind… you'll make just as good a meal for the basilisk dead as alive, and I think I've earned the right to _enjoy_ your deaths."

It was as if all strength had left Ronnie's body. This was it, then. She had put up her best fight, and it hadn't been enough. You-Know-Who was back, Petunia was dead, and in moments so would she and Harry.

"But if it's any consolation," said Riddle, "I never actually planned on letting either of you live."

She was an idiot, she thought. She'd gone in without a real plan, without any backup. She was a silly second-year girl who couldn't even talk. What had she thought would happen? That she'd save Harry by meowing at Wormtail? If she'd only gone to look for the rest of the Gang herself instead of sending Myrtle… maybe they could have done something if they were all there.

Hermione and Ginny would have known what to do. Neville and Colin would have found a way.

At least the pain would soon stop… and at least Crookshanks seemed to have escaped…

Ronnie lay back against Harry and waited for the poison to overcome her. _Here dies Veronica Weasley,_ she thought. _An idiot who tried her best and found that her best wasn't good enough…_

"I have to say," said Riddle, "you're holding on surprisingly long… I would have thought you'd be dead by now."

Ronnie blinked. Something was off. By now she should be feeling the red-hot pain spread through her body and everything beginning to spin as the venom began taking effect… but this didn't happen. She was bleeding, but not _too_ badly… and she was still hurting, but the pain wasn't getting any worse… and her head was as clear as ever…

She _wasn't_ dying!

She opened her eyes and stared at Harry, who was staring back at her. He was dirty and dishevelled, but he wasn't dying from the poison any more than she was.

And then she got it. She really _was_ an idiot. _The immunity!_ Both Harry and Ronnie were completely immune to any and every potion, elixir and magical substance — and she already knew it included incredibly powerful ones like unicorn blood and phoenix tears. _Which meant it also included basilisk venom._ The current-day You-Know-Who knew about their immunity because he shared it himself… but sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle didn't!

And true enough, he was staring at them in disbelief. "How?!" he demanded. "You should be dead! You should have enough basilisk venom in your bodies to kill two elephants, and yet…! _How are you still alive?"_ Then, suddenly, his eyes narrowed, as if he had understood something. "It's not possible! How could children like you _possibly_ have made _Horcruxes?"_

"What?" Ronnie blinked. This wasn't a word she recognised. Harry looked just as blank, so it seemed to be a new word for him as well.

Riddle was getting his breath back under control. "No," he murmured, looking perplexed. "You haven't, I can tell… but the venom isn't working on you, on either of you… why isn't it?"

Harry seemed to have reached the same conclusion as Ronnie. He took a deep breath. "Maybe it's the same reason why you couldn't kill me when I was a baby," he said.

That was clearly the wrong thing to say, because now Riddle well and truly lost his temper. _"KILL THEM!"_ he screamed. " _SWALLOW THEM WHOLE! SQUISH THEM FLAT!"_ He switched over to Parseltongue, hissing louder than ever before, as the basilisk once more stirred and Ronnie could see its bright green underbelly as it rose up behind him, ready for another strike.

Just then, an explosion shook the Chamber. Everything was lit up in scarlet and gold as, quite out of nowhere. Riddle cried out in surprise and even the basilisk fell back in astonishment as more explosions followed, showering them all in sparks.

And then, amidst the explosions, another sound rang through: The sound of a rooster crowing.

There was a loud hiss from the basilisk again; and it immediately cowered back. Harry was shouting something incomprehensible, and the invisible rooster kept crowing. Riddle was trying to keep the basilisk in line with hissed commands, but the huge serpent was in no shape to follow orders. If a snake could look panicked, the basilisk did; it was thrashing wildly about so the Chamber shook, and for each new crow it jerked and writhed in what looked to be agony.

"Looks like we're just in time, Princess!" came a familiar voice from just up front.

As Ronnie raised her head to look, Crookshanks was coming running up towards her. And behind him, wearing curious scarlet blindfolds and holding their wands, the rest of Potter's Gang came storming in through the entrance.

Here came Hermione, Ginny, Neville and Colin — and just behind them, Fred, George and Percy. Despite being blindfolded, none of them seemed to be in any doubt of where to put their feet or where they were going.

There were no roosters, but both Neville and Colin were crowing loudly, sounding exactly like a pair of roosters. For each loud crow, the basilisk was lurching back, as the Chamber around them was filling up with explosions of red and gold. Fred and George were hauling fireworks out of their pockets, prodding them with their wands and hurling them in nice arches out into the room, where they exploded in bright stars.

One of Fred's rockets exploded right in the basilisk's face, which combined with Neville and Colin's non-stop crowing was enough to make it writhe in pain, lashing out with its enormous tail and entirely failing to knock Colin over because its aim was completely off, before it turned and fled.

Ginny was kneeling by Ronnie and Harry, wrapping her arms around them both in an enormous hug. "You're alive!" she said. "Oh, thank _God!"_

"Wha — Ginny!" Ronnie managed to say, sitting up as her sister hugged her tightly. "What's — what's going on?"

"C'mon, Princess! I keep telling you, you're smarter 'an this!" said Crookshanks. "It's 'at Animal Talk Charm, of course! Two boys, speaking fluent chicken — wassat make?"

 _"The crow of a rooster!"_ Ronnie exclaimed. "The one sound that's deadly to basilisks! But how did they know — of course! _Hermione!"_

Hermione, blindfolded as the others, had placed herself in front of them, standing protectively between Harry, Ronnie and Riddle, while Neville and Colin were crowing as loudly as they could

"Keep crowing!" Percy was ordering. "Fred, George — keep up the fireworks!"

It didn't seem like _Animaloqui-_ replicated crowing was quite as effective as a real rooster's — the basilisk had not dropped dead yet, even if the sound was clearly causing it great agony. It was fleeing back towards the statue, clearly desperate to get back into the hole It had slithered out of, as Fred and George's Filibuster fireworks exploded all around it.

 _"No!"_ Riddle was hissing, in the heat of the moment in English rather than in Parseltongue. "You idiot! They're not real roosters! _Come back here!"_

But the basilisk wasn't obeying. Jerking in obvious pain for each of Colin's crows, it shot up the all form of the statue and vanished into the black hole that was its still-open mouth. Just as Riddle tried to scream at it in Parseltongue, he was attacked by a streak of red and gold — Fawkes had appeared, and was on him, forcing him back as he scratched at him with powerful talons.

Riddle screamed in rage and thrust out his hands. A powerful blast of force sent Fawkes hurling back towards the entrance. Unfazed, the phoenix spread his wings and swooped around, sailing in an elegant arch towards the Gang.

The Filibuster explosions had stopped; now Fred and George were standing with their wands ready, together with Percy, Hermione — and Neville and Colin, who were still crowing loudly. Ginny was still hugging both Harry and Ronnie, Crookshanks had climbed up in Ronnie's lap, and now Fawkes settled down on her shoulder.

The sense of calm and optimism that always came with Fawkes's touch surged through Ronnie. Even her leg seemed to be hurting less.

Her family and friends were here. There was nothing they couldn't face together.

Riddle was breathing heavily and bleeding from the scratches Fawkes had given him, but he was on his feet and glaring at them all — especially at Harry and Ronnie. "This doesn't make sense," he said. "You should be dead. Basilisk venom can kill anything. _Why aren't you dead?!_ And _you!"_ he snapped at the rest of them. "Why didn't that incompetent Wormtail take care of you?!"

"Haven't you heard, whoever-you-are?" said Fred. _"Gryffindors are invincible!"_

"Come on, then!" said George. "If you think you're hard enough!"

"Hiding behind your little gang, Harry?" Riddle snarled. "Too much of a coward to face me one-on-one?"

"He doesn't have to!" said Hermione. She was speaking in a calm voice, facing Riddle as if she could see him through her blindfold. "Harry will always _— always! —_ have us by his side."

Harry was sitting up. "I have _friends_ , Riddle," he said, having regained his voice. "Friends who stand by me even when times are tough."

 _"Friends,"_ Riddle spat. _"Please._ Stupid children who meow like cats and crow like roosters and toss toy fireworks around! Silly songbirds and mangy cats!"

"And yet we kicked your arse!" said Fred triumphantly.

"Who do _you_ have, Riddle?" said Harry. "Do you have _any_ friends who wouldn't leave you behind to save themselves? The basilisk's fled, and I don't see Wormtail anywhere around either. You're alone!"

Riddle was getting his breath back now. "I admit your cheap tricks caught me off-guard for a moment," he said. "But you haven't _defeated_ me." He slowly stood up, his voice getting louder. "I may not have my basilisk, my servant or even my wand — but I have something much more valuable than that! Because unlike _you_ , Harry Potter, I know that _true_ power comes only to the wizard who stands alone!"

Just then, Percy — who seemed to have had enough of this — yelled _"Stupefy!"_ and thrust his wand out at Riddle, sending a jet of red light towards Riddle. But Riddle just raised his hand and the spell seemed to bounce off an invisible shield.

"I have waited for fifty years — I can be patient!" he said. "You can't avoid your fate forever, Harry! In every shadow, in every dark corner, I'll be waiting! And the moment _you_ drop your guard, the moment you don't have your precious friends with you… That's when I will _strike_! And I won't waste my time with silly tricks… I will _destroy_ you! And the world will once more tremble at the name of _LORD VOLDEMORT!"_

There was a loud _CRACK,_ like a clap of thunder, and Riddle was gone.

There was a brief, horrible silence.

The first one to react was Colin _. "B'kawk?!"_ he said.

"He vanished!" said Harry.

"That _ponce_ was You-Know-Who?" said Fred. "Where'd he go?"

"Did he turn invisible?" said Ronnie, forgetting that the others wouldn't understand it.

"Nah," said Crookshanks in her lap. "I'd know if 'e was still 'ere. Wager the firebird would too."

As if he understood that Crookshanks was talking about him, Fawkes suddenly took off from Ronnie's shoulder and flapped his wings, flying out into the room. Ronnie was half-expecting him to attack an invisible opponent or something, but he didn't — instead, he just circled around for a moment, then he swooped down to the floor and landed by the pile of clothes and dust that…

…that had once been Harry's Aunt Petunia.

"How was that You-Know-Who?" said Percy. He was tentatively removing his blindfold. He wasn't wearing his glasses underneath it, and was squinting rather hard in order to focus on the Chamber around him. "More importantly, where is he now? It's all right, you can take your blindfolds off… but Colin, keep crowing every once in a while, to make certain the basilisk stays away."

"B'kawk!" said Colin cheerfully, and then let out a loud rooster-crow.

Everyone was removing their blindfolds now, blinking as their eyes properly took in the eerie sight of the Chamber of Secrets for the first time.

"What a nice place," said George. "Tasteful décor. Just the kind of place I've always imagined You-Know-Who would host his parties in. Is he gone, or just hiding, d'you think?"

"Maybe he Disapparated?" said Ginny.

"You can't Disapparate on Hogwarts grounds," said Hermione. "It's right there in _Hogwarts: A History —"_

"We're not _on_ Hogwarts grounds, are we?" said George. "We're more _under_ them. _Miles_ under them."

"Yeah," said Fred. "Really, how deep do those Anti-Apparition jinxes go?"

Hermione opened her mouth and then closed it again. "I — don't know," she admitted, before changing the subject. "Harry, Ronnie — are you okay?"

"I'm fine," said Harry. "Ronnie's meowing." He turned to Ronnie, suddenly concerned. "You're all right, aren't you? I'm afraid I blacked out for a bit when Riddle…" He trailed off, and then said in a small voice: "Aunt Petunia's dead, isn't she?"

Ronnie nodded.

Harry lowered his head with a pained expression.

"So your Aunt…" said Fred.

"Damn, Harry," said George. "Sorry to hear that. I mean, she was… she wasn't…"

"You don't have to pretend she was a nice person," said Harry. "You met her. You saw what she was like. But she didn't deserve to _die_. Not like that."

"We're going to have to talk about what happened later," said Percy, who was trying to focus on Harry and Ronnie. "For now, we must — Merlin's beard, those are some ugly wounds."

Harry and Ronnie looked down, and Ronnie gasped when she saw just how blood-soaked their robes were. She'd almost managed to forget the wound on her leg and block out the pain, but now It welled up again.

"Let me have a look at those." Percy had fished his glasses out of his pocket and given them a quick polishing with the wave of his wand. Now he moved around and kneeled by Ronnie's legs, leaning in to get a better look. "Healing spells aren't my strongest suit, but… I think I can at least patch you up temporarily until we can get you to the hospital wing…"

Crookshanks cocked his head and looked up at Ronnie. "Want me to lick that wound?" he offered. "Might 'elp."

"Thanks, but I think Percy's got it," Ronnie managed to say, scratching behind his ear. "By the way, thank you. You were the one who led the others here, weren't you?"

"Barely 'ad to lead 'em at all," said the cat nonchalantly. "When you told me to run, I ran to find 'elp. Just as I was trying to figure out 'ow to get back up to the castle, down comes this lot down the slide, neat as you please! From there it was only a matter of getting 'em down the tunnels and up to the Chamber. Heads up, by the way, firebird's back."

Ronnie looked up to see Fawkes come flying towards her again. In his talons he held Riddle's Diary, and in his beak he held Ronnie's Warning Fang.

As he came in for a landing on her shoulder again, he let go of the diary, which fell into Harry's lap, and then he carefully dropped he Warning Fang into Ronnie's open hand. It was quite cool again, so Riddle really was gone.

Then again, if he wasn't _here_ anymore, that meant he was somewhere out _there_ …

"Bloody — _ahhh!"_ The rest of her swear drowned in a gasp as her leg turned very hot, then very cold, as Percy tapped it with his wand and the wound began to close. 

Harry had picked up the diary. It looked as old and worn as before, its cover stained with blood and dust. "It feels different somehow," he said in a soft voice. "I didn't really get a good look at it before, but… something's definitely different. Maybe it's because Riddle's left it? Ginny, you've seen it before, what do you say?"

"Me?" Ginny blinked. She let go of Harry to accept the small diary. "I can't really tell… and I'm _not_ writing in it to find out!"

"We should take it to Dumbledore as soon as possible," said Hermione, looking at the diary. "So this is the book that's caused all the problems…"

"Doesn't look like much, does it?" said George. "You-Know-Who was _literally_ in it?"

"More like… a part of him, I think," said Harry. "A memory of the student he was when he still attended Hogwarts — _ahh!"_ He winced as his wound began closing, just like Ronnie's had.

"I think that's the best I can do," said Percy.

"Thanks, Percy," Harry panted. "One thing I don't get, though — the blindfolds, and the rooster-crowing. Did you _know_ there was a basilisk down here?"

"We figured it out," said Hermione. "It wasn't all that hard, with the clue Ronnie left us."

"Clue?" Ronnie meowed.

"Hermione's generous about sharing the credit," said George. "But really, she's the one who figured it all out."

"But what happened?" said Harry, echoing Ronnie's thoughts.

"Well," said George. "We were in the common room, waiting for you lot to return from Dumbledore's office, and then Neville shows up alone with Fawkes, babbling about Harry being gone and needing to find Dumbledore. Took a bit of time before we understood what he was on about, but in the end we managed to get some sense out of him."

Neville looked sheepish, clucking something in chicken language as both he and Colin began taking off their blindfolds.

"Shoulda known," said Crookshanks. "Nice bloke, but talking ain't 'is strong suit, is it?"

Ronnie stifled a giggle. Her leg was slowly returning to normal; the cold was fading and the pain had been replaced with a dull ache.

"But," George continued, "when we realised that Harry was in trouble and our darling little sister was all alone in a dark and scary hospital wing… don't glare like that, Ron, it doesn't suit you. Anyway, Percy, Fred and I insisted on coming along."

"Only we couldn't _find_ Dumbledore," Fred shot in. "He wasn't in his office. And all those portraits of former Headmasters? Most unhelpful collection of paintings I've ever met. Just because George and I were there, they thought it was all some prank — can you imagine?!"

"Good to have a reputation," said George, "but sometimes it comes back to bite you. Anyway, we met up with the rest of Potter's Gang in the Owlery —"

"—and then spent an embarrassingly long time running around the corridors like idiots because we couldn't figure out where Ronnie had gone off to," Fred shot in. "And let me just expand the category of 'most unhelpful collection of paintings' to include all the ones in the Hogwarts corridors. Not _one_ of them would say if they'd seen anything."

"We even tried McGonagall's office," said George. "But _she_ was in the middle of a huge row with Lucius Malfoy. We didn't stick around to figure out what they were fighting about."

"Then," said Fred, "we chanced to meet Moaning Myrtle, who was floating around and looking for Potter's Gang. After she'd spent almost five minutes telling us that she was having a party and that _Ginny_ wasn't invited —"

Ronnie hid her face in her hands.

"— she got around to mentioning the Room of Requirement, and how our apparently-suicidal baby sister had gone meowing down to the Chamber of Secrets to fight Slytherin's monster."

"Forgot to mention the cat," said Crookshanks dryly. "Why'm I not surprised? That ghost ain't got 'alf the brains she was killed wif."

George, of course, hadn't heard this, so he just went on: "That Room of Requirement's really something, by the way. Fred and I actually found it last year, hiding from Filch, but then it was just a broom cupboard. We had no idea it could get so… so…" he searched for the right word.

"Grand?" Fred suggested.

"That works. Thank you." George nodded. "So, we entered the Room of Requirement and found the slide that went down here, and right beside it was this huge painting of a rooster — and when Hermione saw _that,_ she told us she'd figured it out and that the Monster of Slytherin was a basilisk!"

Ronnie was completely overwhelmed. _She_ hadn't understood the significance of the rooster, but _Hermione_ had figured it out with a single glance.

Hermione blushed a little. "It was obvious, really," she said. "I'm actually surprised I didn't figure it out before."

"How did you figure it out at _all?"_ said Harry.

Hermione took a deep breath. "Harry," she said. "I just want to say that I don't think any less of you for it, but… I know you're a Parselmouth."

Ronnie's jaw dropped. Everyone — including Harry — turned to look at Hermione with stunned expressions. The only ones who didn't seem disturbed were Crookshanks and Fawkes.

Even Ginny turned her head towards Hermione, her tight hug going a little slacker, her jaw dropping just like Ronnie's had. "Don't be silly!" she squeaked. "Harry can't —"

 _"How did you know?"_ said Harry. Ginny's arms fell to her sides as she stared at him in shock.

"You were hearing voices that nobody else could hear," said Hermione, in an almost apologetic tone. "Everyone else just heard hissing and thought it was the normal hissing of the plumbing, but you heard the words. I didn't connect the voice you said you heard with the hissing, until I remembered the time we were talking to Luna."

"Luna?"

"Yes, when she was trying to imitate that hissing she'd heard. She must have chanced to speak a few words in Parseltongue, because you heard her say…"

 _"…honourless scum,"_ said Harry. "Same words that I later heard the voice say. The basilisk must have been complaining about Wormtail or something, and Luna heard it."

"From there, once I actually gave it a bit of thought, "said Hermione, "it wasn't too hard to deduce that that you had to be a Parselmouth. And that you were hearing a snake."

Harry nodded slowly. "I didn't know it was unusual to be able to talk to snakes until I read that passage in the book Ronnie found," he admitted. "I'd only done it once before, and that was before I even knew I was a wizard. But since the book went on about what a Dark ability Parseltongue was considered, I decided not to tell anyone… I'm sorry. I know I should have told you. I just didn't want you to think that…"

There was a bit of a silence. Then, Ronnie shifted and wrapped her arms around Harry, hugging him as tightly as Ginny had. "It's all right," she said. "Talking to snakes is an awesome ability, and if people think it's Dark just because that wanker Slytherin could do it, they're idiots. I know you don't understand a bloody word I'm saying right now, but…"

Ginny wrapped her arms around Harry as well, hugging him from the other side. "We don't care that you're a Parselmouth, you idiot!" she said. "What did that stupid book know, anyway? You're not Dark!"

(Through it all, Ronnie couldn't help but feel a _little_ proud of her little sister… only a few months ago, she would have fainted if Harry so much as touched her, and now she was hugging him without even blushing, and even calling him an idiot.)

"Yes," said Percy, clearing his throat. "Parseltongue doesn't make a Dark wizard. I'm, er, sure there have been many fine and upstanding Parselmouths. All the same," he added hurriedly, "if you want to keep your ability a secret, that's perfectly understandable, and I, for one, promise not to tell anyone."

Neville and Colin both nodded — and Ronnie was certain that if Colin hadn't currently been under the Animal Talk Charm, he would have started asking some if his normal inane questions. He didn't seem put-off by the Parseltongue, and neither did Neville.

"Yeah!" said Fred. "Besides, there are untold pranking possibilities here! You could ask a nice, harmless garden snake to hide in Ginny's schoolbag, and then —"

"Shut up, Fred!" Ginny hissed.

"Just kidding," said Fred. "And people wonder why genuine Weasley pranks are a dying art," he added under his breath.

Harry smiled gratefully at them all, before he took a deep breath and turned back to Hermione. "All right," he said. "I'm a Parselmouth. But how did you get from there to 'basilisk'? It could have been any kind of dangerous snake, couldn't it?"

"Yes, but that's where Ronnie's clue came in," said Hermione, clearly relieved that nobody was going nuts over the revelation. "When I saw the painting of the rooster, I remembered the conversation she had with Colin some weeks ago, about basilisks — how the crowing of the rooster was lethal to them!"

Ronnie blinked. She _had_ briefly discussed the topic with Colin, she remembered, back at Harry's first Quidditch match. Hermione had been there as well, but Ronnie hadn't been aware she'd followed the conversation.

"And," Hermione went on, sounding triumphant, "the more I thought about it, the more it made sense! It _had_ to be a basilisk that was behind the Petrifications!"

"That part I still don't get," said Ginny. "You said a basilisk's gaze killed immediately. That was why you had us wear those blindfolds, so none of us would accidentally look it in the eye. But Lavender and Lockhart… they didn't die!"

"That's right," said Hermione. "Because a basilisk's gaze is only lethal if you look it _directly_ in the eye! And by pure luck, neither Lavender nor Lockhart did! Lavender… she'd borrowed Colin's camera, remember? She must have seen the basilisk, but through the lens of the camera — which destroyed the camera and Petrified Lavender, but no worse than that! And as for Professor Lockhart… you remember all the mirrors he had in his office?"

"It would have been hard for him _not_ to see the basilisk's reflection," Harry murmured. "And the ghosts…"

"The ghosts _did_ all get the direct gaze," said Hermione. "But they couldn't die _again,_ so they were just Petrified! As with most puzzles, the answer's obvious in hindsight! But I'm curious — how did _you_ work it out, Ronnie?"

"Er — wh…" Ronnie sputtered.

"That painting was an _ingenious_ clue!" said Hermione. "It was obvious enough for me to pick up on, but not so obvious that anyone else would guess that you'd figured it out!"

"I —"

"Not to mention, it made it easy enough to put the _Animaloqui_ on Neville and Colin. I wasn't sure it would be possible to cast the spell properly with just a _picture_ of the animal in question instead of the actual animal — but it worked perfectly fine! You really did your research on that one!"

"Er —"

"Of course, it had to be the _boys_ who were placed under the charm, because Ginny and I would just have sounded like hens and not like roosters — that wouldn't have harmed the basilisk at all — and Fred and George and Percy know a lot more spells so they were more useful if they could still speak the incantations —"

 _"Hermione!"_ Ronnie hissed. "I _didn't_ work it out! I just charged in without thinking, as usual, and it was just pure dumb luck that I didn't get myself killed! _You're_ the Shirley Holes in this Gang, not me!"

Hermione stared at her for a brief moment, and then shook her head, pulling out her wand. "Oh, of course. You're still under the _Animaloqui_. Here, let me do the counter-spell, and then you can tell me."

"Oh." Ronnie felt herself turn pink. Then she looked down at Crookshanks.

"Go ahead, Princess," he said, flicking his tail. "You need to talk to your own kind. 'Sides — now we know you can do that spell. You can talk to me any time you like, can't you?"

Ronnie nodded. "Count on it. Talk to you later, Meow."

"Keep calling me _'Crookshanks,'_ Princess," said the cat. "Even when talking cat language, you still can't pronounce me real name worth —"

_"Finite Intcantatem!"_

Crookshanks went silent, and Hermione pulled back her wand. It felt to Ronnie as if something in her head switched off, like a flame going out or possibly a running faucet being closed. Blinking, she looked down at her cat, who looked back up at her.

"Meow," he said, flicking his tail a bit. Just moments before, this would have spoken volumes to her, translated the movement to exact words. But now, it was just a flicking tail tip.

"There," said Hermione. "Now you should be able to talk in proper English again."

Ronnie looked up at her. Then she turned to look at the others. Harry, pale and dishevelled. Percy, looking at her through newly-polished glasses. Fred and George, unusually solemn. Neville and Colin, looking down at her. Ginny, still refusing to end the hug. And Fawkes on her shoulder, his warming weight a great comfort.

She took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," she said.

They all blinked in surprise. "Er — sorry?" Harry repeated. "What for?"

"I didn't figure out _anything!_ I just barged down here without thinking. The rooster painting was a coincidence, it was the Room of Requirement trying to warn me, and I didn't get it! I came down here, I got Imperiused, I almost died three times over, and in the end I couldn't even stop what was happening! Harry's Aunt still died, and Riddle — and _Wormtail!"_ she suddenly exclaimed, turning back to Hermione. "What happened to Wormtail? He was sent out to stand guard — did you see him out there?!"

Hermione shook her head. "We didn't meet anyone out there. Apart from Crookshanks, of course."

"He must've buggered off, just like Harry said!" Ronnie groaned. "Great. _Perfect._ That means we have both Wormtail _and_ Riddle out there. And a basilisk still in hiding."

"Well, that last one should be possible to deal with," said Percy. "I'll alert the teachers and have them bring half a dozen _real_ roosters down here. That should take care of it. Hmm," he added, straightening his glasses. "It seems like we've discovered why the school roosters were killed, don't we? This Wormtail must have killed them, on Riddle's orders no doubt, so that they would pose no threat to the basilisk."

"Oh yeah…" Ronnie remembered the day of Harry's first Quidditch match, when Hagrid had been late to the game because another rooster had been killed, and he hadn't been able to find out what sort of creature had done it. He'd thought he'd had it so secure that not even a rat could get in… but what if the rat had human intelligence, could take on human form, and had a wand to cast all sorts of nasty spells with?

She looked at Percy and Ginny. Scabbers had been _their_ pet. Percy had of course had him the longest, but Ginny had clearly bonded with him during the year she was alone at the Burrow… Once more, an icky shiver shot up Ronnie's spine when she thought about Ginny unwittingly sharing a room with an Animagus.

Repressing the shiver, she swallowed and drew a deep breath. "Percy... Ginny..." she said. "There's something I need to tell you about Wormtail. And you're not gonna like it."

 

 

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED…**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to get them out of the Chamber for this chapter, but this just seemed like such a convenient place to end the chapter — less of a cliffhanger than last time, even if things definitely haven't reached any sort of happy ending.
> 
> Petunia's dead, Riddle's on the loose, the basilisk is still alive, and Wormtail seems to have given everyone the slip. So what happens next? Time will show…
> 
> I've been looking forward to Hermione's "here's-how-I-figured-it-all-out" speech; even in canon she'd occasionally display some very impressive deduction skills, but she very seldom got to go all "Hercule Poirot" and explain to the involved people just how she figured out what was going on… so I let her have her moment here.
> 
> Occasionally I worry that I don't really showcase her intelligence enough and just turn her into a sort of "Grumpy Bear" and naysayer who too easily dismisses the obvious solutions as impossible or ridiculous. But while Hermione is very narrow-minded and too eager to say "that can't be done," she's also a damn clever young witch… and I hope that with this little display of logical deduction I did manage to honour this.
> 
> I don't know if you've noticed, but for all that Hermione in this story lectures and is exasperated with Ronnie, she seems to have a lot more faith in her than canon Hermione has in Ron. In canon, Hermione would never have just assumed that Ron had worked out the answer to a mystery like she does with Ronnie here.
> 
> Now, of course, it might be justified since Ronnie has spent much of the story playing "Shirley Holes" and making weird deductions — and even been right about a few of them — but is it possible that Hermione is on some level giving more credit to Ronnie, just because Ronnie is a girl?
> 
> What do you guys think?


	19. I Can Listen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, back again.
> 
> So, why's this update so late? Easy — I've been working more on my original stuff, particularly my drawing. You see, my goal has always been to be able to earn a living doing art, and I've got to the stage where it looks like I might actually be able to do that. But, sadly, when you do several creative things the thing you don't make any money on and don't have a deadline for tend to take a backseat when it comes to priorities.
> 
> That said, I'm not abandoning "Weasley Girl." The end of "Secrets of the Past" is near; the big climactic battle of the year is over and all that's left is to wrap up some of the loose ends and set things up for what comes next. Which means that this story clocks in at a respectable twenty chapters plus epilogue — true, it's hardly the longest HP fanfic on this site, but still the longest story I've ever written.
> 
> So, what does he future hold for this AU? Well, there'll be a couple of short stories set in the same universe, and of course there'll be the third and final novel in the trilogy… which I've finally settled on a name for.
> 
> It's going to be called "Weasley Girl: War of the Prophecy."

 

"Scabbers was really an Animagus."

"Yes."

 _"Scabbers_ was _really_ an _Animagus."_

"For the fifth time, Ginny, _yes."_

They were all walking down the stairs towards the first floor, Fawkes perched comfortably on Ronnie's shoulder.

They probably looked quite a sight; dirty and dishevelled after their trip down to the Chamber of Secrets, Harry and Ronnie's robes still torn and bloody — but all in all, for a group of students that had just faced a basilisk they were remarkably all in one piece, not a single one of them dead or Petrified.

The climb up from the chamber would have been hard if they hadn't had Fawkes with them. But the phoenix was still surprising them with her new abilities — he'd simply made Ronnie hold on to his leg, and then with everyone else holding on to each other (and Hermione holding Crookshanks) he had flown them up the pipe and back into the Room of Requirement, as easily as if they weighed nothing.

Since they didn't know if Dumbledore was back yet, Percy of course insisted on going to Professor McGonagall with the diary immediately, and nobody had contradicted him. So here they were, on their way to the Deputy Headmistress's office.

If Ronnie was to look on the bright side, at least the revelation about Scabbers had her Prefect brother off-balance to such a degree that he'd barely even lectured her about how foolish she'd been changing down to the Chamber of Secrets on her own. For the moment, after the initial moment of disbelief, he was much busier berating himself for being an idiot.

"I should have _known,"_ he said. "No normal rat lives to be more than eleven years old! I suppose I just didn't want to question… Nobody wants their pet to die, after all…" He looked at Ronnie and Ginny with concern, with a particular anxious look at Ginny. "You realise he stayed in your room for over a year?! Who _knows_ what he could have got up to?!"

"Oh, _thanks_ , Percy," said Ginny with a mortified look. "I was _just_ trying _not_ to think about that."

"I can't believe we used to view the name 'Wormtail' as one of the greatest in wizarding history," said Fred hotly. "If we ever see that rat again, I say we feed him to the cat."

"Speaking of which," said George, "where _is_ the cat?"

They all looked around. Crookshanks, who had been walking alongside them, bottle-brush tail held high, was suddenly nowhere to be seen.

"Damn," said Ronnie. "Bet you anything he's gone after Wormtail."

"Well, you're not going after him," said Percy, giving her a look that was a perfect mix of sternness, annoyance and concern. "You're coming with us to Professor McGonagall's office."

"All right, all right!" Ronnie suddenly felt too tired to argue. The last few hours had been an emotional hurricane of gigantic proportions, and at the moment all she wanted to do was to go to bed and sleep for a week.

But, she thought, if she was feeling exhausted, that couldn't possibly compare to how Harry must be feeling: In less than a day, he'd learned about the betrayal of his parents, got kidnapped, got bit by a basilisk, found his Uncle, lost his Aunt, been outed as a Parselmouth… and a teenage You-Know-Who had promised to come after him when he least expected it.

She looked over at her best friend, who had been silent ever since they had left the Chamber of Secrets.

"Fawkes," she said to the phoenix on her shoulder. "Would you mind sitting on Harry's shoulder for a bit? I think he needs you more than I do right now."

Harry turned his head to look at her. For a moment, the corners of his mouth turned upwards; it wasn't a big smile but it was still heartening to see. "It's all right," he said. "I don't think he has quite the same effect on me as he does on you."

"Oh."

"It's all right. I just — I don't even know what I'm going to tell Uncle Vernon or Dudley."

She suppressed the wince. The image of Petunia Dursley dissolving was still vivid in her mind, and she suspected she'd just discovered what her nightmares for the next ten years would be about. "Want me to be with you when you do?" she offered, not sure if she hoped whether he would answer yes or no.

"I could come," said Hermione. "I'm Muggle-born, I… I know how to talk to Muggles."

"Me too!" said Colin. The _Animaloqui_ had been lifted off him, and he was speaking normally again.

"I could too," said Neville softly. "I don't know much about Muggles, but I know a bit about what it's like to lose someone…"

"Scabbers was mine," said Ginny. "It should be me. I know your Uncle and I didn't hit it off very well, but…"

"Actually," said Percy, clearing his throat in that special pompous way that he always used whenever he was about to make a suggestion he didn't really want to make. "I am a Prefect, and as such it's my job to help other students, so — Harry, if you need me to break the news to your Uncle, I will. I'm certain I can break it to him gently."

"No offense, Perce," said Fred, "but remember when Uncle Bilius died and you tried to break the news gently to Ginny?"

"Yeah," said George, "far as I remember, you spent half an hour talking about Cheering Charms before you got around to mentioning that he was dead."

Ronnie had a brief, but horrifying mental image of Percy standing by Vernon's bed in the hospital wing and delivering an hour-long rambling speech in which nothing was said about Petunia until the last ten seconds. She chose not to share it with the others.

Harry took a deep breath. "Thanks for the offers," he said, looking at them all. "But I think I should do this myself. Let's just get this diary to Professor McGonagall."

 

* * *

 

They heard Lucius Malfoy long before they saw him.

"— Dumbledore's disdain for the Board of Governors is well-documented," he was saying, apparently in the middle of an angry rant. "But I would have thought he would at least be interested enough in his job to make certain he is at least present on school grounds when he knows the Chairman is coming to call! I am going to take this up with the Board first thing in the morning."

As they approached McGonagall's office, they could see Mr. Malfoy standing outside it, elegantly dressed in his travel cloak and clearly on his way out — but from the annoyed look of McGonagall, who was standing in the office doorway, it was clear that he had been 'on his way out' for several minutes.

"I assure you that everyone here at Hogwarts, including the Headmaster, has exactly as much respect and reverence for the Board of Governors as it deserves," came the dry voice of Professor McGonagall. "Nevertheless, I shall make certain to inform him of everything you said the moment he returns. _Please_ , do not let me trespass any further on your valuable time, Mister Malfoy — _what in Merlin's name?"_

The last exclamation came when she spotted Potter's Gang and friends. Even Mr. Malfoy stopped his angry ranting and looked as the group with clear surprise.

"What are you lot doing wandering around the corridors?" she demanded. "And look at the state you're in! Filthy and dishevelled — Mister Weasley, I expected better of you, you should know that your Prefect rounds are not an occasion for family gatherings — _Merlin's beard!"_ she interrupted herself, surprise mixing with shock as her eyes fell on Harry and Ronnie; dirty, scraped-up and with torn, blood-soaked robes. "Mister Potter, Miss Weasley — what on _Earth_ happened to you two?"

Percy stepped forth. "Professor McGonagall," he said in his customary pompous way. "I'm fully aware we're out past curfew, but I must claim extraordinary circumstances. I believe _this_ should begin to answer some of the questions."

He held out Riddle's diary; old and battered and with covers still stained with Ronnie's blood, but otherwise none the worse for wear.

McGonagall looked at it. "Mister Weasley!" she said, her voice suddenly very quiet. "Is this what I think it is?"

Lucius Malfoy, however, eyed the book with disdain. "Students arrive to give the Deputy Headmistress an old and blood-stained diary," he sneered. "I would say I was shocked at the behaviour of Hogwarts students these days, but as I already have had ample time to discover, Weasleys have no concept of proper behaviour. If you will excuse me, _Professor_ McGonagall, I will take my leave now."

"Feel free, Mister Malfoy," said McGonagall, who was never taken aback for very long. "It appears I will be busy talking to my students anyway. You may use the Floo in the Caretaker's office."

"I will find my own way out, thank you very much," said Mr. Malfoy. Then, he raised his voice, and barked, in a loud, sharp voice. _"Dobby! Come here at once!"_

"Dob—" Ronnie began, but managed to stop herself just in the nick of time.

Because all of a sudden, with a loud _CRACK,_ a very familiar house-elf appeared out of thin air.

If it was possible, Dobby looked even more worn and haggard than he had when Ronnie saw him last. Instead of the old pillowcase he'd worn then, he was now dressed in an old rag that looked even more tattered and torn, and he seemed to have acquired a few more bandages as well.

"Master calls —" he began, and then stopped. For a brief moment, his eyes went to the diary in Percy's hand. He turned his head, meeting Ronnie's eyes, looking more afraid than ever.

Mr. Malfoy seemed to be too busy fuming to notice. "Yes," he said. "I'm leaving this miserable school, and I want you to — _is something wrong with your eye?"_ he suddenly snapped.

"No, Master!" squeaked Dobby, trying to pretend he hadn't been winking at Ronnie and Harry. "Dobby is sorry! Dobby will immediately punish himself when we gets home!"

"See that you do," said Mr. Malfoy, in a tone that suggested that he was showing the poor house-elf a great mercy by not taking it further. And then, he ignored them all and turned back to McGonagall: "Since I have no intention of wasting my time any further —"

Behind him, Dobby shot desperate glances at Harry and Ronnie. He motioned to the diary, and then pretended to strangle himself.

And Ronnie suddenly got it. Time seemed to slow down as the last puzzle piece fell in place in her head. Of _course_. _That_ was what had happened. She hadn't really taken much notice of the words at the time, but _that_ was what Crookshanks had meant when he talked about _'that 'orrid man.'_

"Mister Malfoy," she said, and it was as if she heard her own voice coming from far away. "Before you go, could I ask you something?"

Her friends looked at her in astonishment, and even McGonagall was raising a brow — but Mr. Malfoy just presented her with the same expression he'd worn back at Knockturn Alley; as if he had just spotted a nasty insect he would rather just crush as soon as possible. "What?" he snapped.

"I was just wondering," said Ronnie. "How did you know that book was a diary? Doesn't say so on the cover."

If he was taken aback, he didn't show it. "Well, what else _could_  it be?" he said. "It's _clearly_ not a schoolbook, so it's not exactly a difficult guess."

"I don't think you _guessed_ ," said Ronnie, and her voice was getting stronger in her own ears. "I think you _knew_. I think you've seen that diary before."

"Ridiculous," Mr. Malfoy scoffed. "A filthy Muggle diary? Where would I have seen something like that?"

"And how did you know it was a _Muggle_ diary?"

"Only a Muggle diary would be that sorry-looking!" Mr. Malfoy shot back without missing a beat. "This is ludicrous. I refuse to stand here and let a foolish little girl waste my time with inane questions!"

 _"Mister Malfoy!"_ Professor McGonagall suddenly snapped. The expression on her face was one she usually reserved for particularly obnoxious or misbehaving students; apparently, she had reached the end of her patience. "I will _thank_ you not to use that tone of voice when you are speaking to one of my students!" Her voice softened somewhat. "I, for one, am quite interested in what Miss Weasley has to say."

"She is clearly trying to besmirch my good name!" Mr. Malfoy hissed.

"I was not aware," said McGonagall, "that the good name of Malfoy was so frail that it could be toppled by a Muggle diary. Miss Weasley, please go on."

Ronnie looked at her, and then at Mr. Malfoy. "I think," she said, "that you've seen that diary because you were the one who gave it to me. Back at _Flourish & Blotts_ this Summer."

"When Scabbers escaped!" said Ginny, getting it.

Hermione gasped. "Of course!" she said. "I can't _believe_ I didn't think of that! Ronnie shoved her books at me, and I dropped them on the floor —"

"— and then everyone else got distracted by Scabbers escaping," Harry finished. "Mr. Malfoy could easily have slipped the diary into one of Ronnie's books!"

Fred looked murderous. _"You_ were the one who gave _our sister_ that _diary?!"_ he growled at Mr. Malfoy.

"Absurd!" said Mr. Malfoy. "I have never given any of you Weasleys anything, much less a Muggle diary. If that thing ended up inside one of the books that you bought, blame the incompetents at _Flourish & Blotts,_ not me!"

"Oh, really?" said Ronnie. "What if I tell you that my cat _saw_ you with that diary!"

"Then I would strongly suggest that you get your foolish little head examined," said Mr. Malfoy icily. "Your _cat_ saw me with the diary. Honestly. I suppose it _told_ you that? I refuse to stay here and listen to this. When the Headmaster returns, inform him that the Board of Governors would like a word with him!"

"That won't be necessary," came a sudden familiar voice from further down the corridor. "I am right here and quite ready to hear whatever the Board of Governors has to say."

And there, further up the corridor, the Headmaster came walking towards them, smiling calmly, his blue eyes twinkling characteristically behind half-moon glasses. With a musical trill, Fawkes flapped his wings and took off from Ronnie's shoulder, to settle on Dumbledore's.

Dumbledore gently stroked the phoenix's feathers with a long, bony finger. "My apologies, Lucius," he said. "I had a pressing appointment in Yorkshire, but as you can see, I am back now."

Fawkes affectionately nipped Dumbledore's ear with his beak and let out a series of musical trills.

Dumbledore cocked his head and looked at the bird, eyebrows raising. "Really?" he said. "My word. I have only been away from the school for an hour's time, but it seems like quite a lot might happen in one hour."

Mr. Malfoy had stopped dead in his tracks. It was clear that he didn't like how this situation was developing. And yet, he managed to insert quite a bit of his normal contempt in his voice when he spoke again: "Weasley talks to cats, and the Headmaster talks to birds? I would say this school was going to the dogs, but clearly that is too weak an expression!"

Dumbledore just smiled genially. "Oh, while there are many wizards who can talk to animals, I will make no claim to that ability," he said. "But it appears these students have found an object that the faculty have been searching for… oh, for quite some time now. May I see it, Mister Weasley?"

"Of course, Headmaster." Percy handed to book to him.

"Thank you." Dumbledore turned the book around in his hands, opened it and briefly thumbed through the pages before looking back up at them. "My word," he repeated. "This _is_ interesting. Minerva, may we perhaps borrow your office for a bit? I believe there are some things I would like Lucius to explain."

"I believe so too," said McGonagall, looking at Mr. Malfoy.

For the first time, Mr. Malfoy looked a little taken aback. "I do not have the time —" he began.

"Really? I was under the impression that you were only leaving because I had not shown up yet," said Dumbledore. "Well, here I am. And I will be most interested to hear what the Chairman of the Board of Governors has to say."

Mr. Malfoy didn't seem very eager to hear anything that Dumbledore had to say — but to his credit he didn't flinch or try to make excuses. He just pulled himself up to his full height and let his gaze swipe over everyone present. It was a gaze that promised that he would remember this day, and he would remember that they were all there. Then, he focused on Dumbledore again and said, calm as you please: "This is pointless. I have done nothing wrong. You can't prove otherwise. And you know as well as I do that animals can't testify in any court."

"Oh, I'm certain nobody has spoken of taking this to court," said Dumbledore. He turned to look at Potter's Gang. "Would you be so kind as to wait for me here? It shouldn't take long, and I do think we have much to discuss."

"I think we do, sir," said Harry.

"Then I shall be back with you in a few minutes. Now, do come along, Lucius — did you know that Yorkshire has the oldest still-running Muggle sweet shop in the world? They do have some rather excellent Dutch honey liquorice which I still have some pieces of, and you are quite welcome to partake —" Dumbledore's voice was friendly and polite as always, but just like with McGonagall earlier on there was a certain edge to his voice that suggested that trying anything foolish right now would be… well, _extremely_ foolish.

The three adults entered McGonagall's office, Fawkes perched on Dumbledore's shoulder. The door closed behind them, leaving the students out in the corridor.

They all looked at one another. Fred was still red in the face, but had managed to refrain from doing anything worse than glare at Mr. Malfoy.

"Wouldn't like to be Lucius Malfoy right now," said George. "Well, I wouldn't have liked to be him at _any_ time, that goes without saying. But being on the wrong side of both Dumbledore and McGonagall? Don't fancy his chances in there."

Hermione, however, had turned to Dobby. The house-elf was standing a few feet away, nervously fiddling with the old rag he was wearing, and looking utterly lost and forlorn.

"Dobby," she said, in a gentle voice. "Are you all right?"

Dobby gave her a mournful look. Then, just like his master had done, he let his gaze swipe over everyone present —but where Lucius Malfoy's eyes had promised vengeance, Dobby's held nothing but regret. "Dobby is sorry," he said.

"Sorry?" Neville repeated, speaking for the first time since he'd offered to talk to Harry's Uncle. "You haven't done anything wrong!"

"Dobby hasn't done anything right either," Dobby murmured.

"That's not true!" said Ronnie. "Your talk with Crookshanks saved Harry's life! If I hadn't found out from him about the Chamber of Secrets —"

Dobby shook his head. "Miss Shirley Holes is too kind to a poor house-elf," he said. "But, 'tis a poor service to one so great as Harry Potter. Would that things were different, Dobby could have been of more help. As it is," he sighed, "Dobby has to punish himself severely when he gets home, for — for _almost working against his family."_ This last part came as a hushed whisper, as if he was speaking some huge taboo.

"Why d'you stay with them, anyway?" said Harry, who seemed to feel bad for the miserable elf. "Why don't you just, I don't know, leave?"

 _"Leave Dobby's family?"_ Dobby squeaked, covering his mouth with his large hands. "Not even in jest, Harry Potter, not even in jest!"

"House-elves are magically bound to their families, Harry," said Percy — though his normal pompous tone of voice was absent. "The only way they can be freed from that bond is if they are presented with clothes. That's why they never wear actual clothes, you understand; any article of clothing is a symbol that their service is over."

Harry, Hermione and Colin all looked surprised at this. Of course – they had all grown up in the Muggle world and didn't know much about house-elves.

"That's…" Harry blinked.

"That's not right!" said Hermione hotly. "That's _slavery!"_

"I was going to say, _'that's ridiculous,'_ but we can go for your definition if you like, Hermione," said Harry. "Because I'm guessing the job as a house-elf doesn't pay very well?"

 _"Pay?"_ said Dobby, as if he had never heard the word before.

"Yeah, you know, wages!" said Colin, always eager to add his voice to the conversation. "Money!"

 _"Wages..."_ Dobby got an almost dreamy look on his face. "Dobby would love wages. They would mean Dobby wasn't owned. Dobby would be... _his own master."_ Once again, he spoke the last words in a hushed whisper, as if he was talking about things he really shouldn't be talking about.

"Slavery," Hermione repeated, now in a low growl.

"But you can be set free with clothes?" said Harry, looking thoughtful. "What if I just give you one of my socks, Dobby? Would that do it?"

Dobby shook his head. "The clothes has to be passed to Dobby from his master's hand, sir," he said. "Harry Potter is great and kind and wonderful, but even he can't work against the enslavement of the house-elves." He gave them all a long, mournful look. "You is good children. Dobby is happy he met you all. But forget Dobby, he isn't worth the trouble."

Hermione looked pained. "Isn't there anything we can do for you?"

"Dobby doesn't think so, Miss. But," he added, sounding a little more cheerful. "If Dobby in some small way aided the great Harry Potter, then Dobby will punish himself with a light heart."

Ronnie took a deep breath and stepped closer to the elf. "Dobby," she said. "If we can't do anything else, we can at least give you a warning."

"A warning, Miss Shirley Holes?" Dobby looked at her with big eyes.

"Riddle's spirit escaped from the diary. He's out there somewhere." When Dobby neither started to shriek in fright nor ask her what she was talking about, Ronnie went on: "And, er, I might have pretended to be Draco Malfoy while writing to him. I'm not sure if it means anything, but, you know, in case he comes to seek out the Malfoys…"

Dobby nodded solemnly. "Dobby will have been warned. Thank you, Miss Shirley Holes."

"One thing, Dobby," said Harry. "When I met you this Summer, and you warned me about the terrible things that were about to happen, you swore that they didn't involve Vol—" He stopped in the middle of the name as Dobby tensed. "You said it had nothing to do with He Who Must Not Be Named."

For the first time, Dobby smiled. It was a small, sad smile, but in some weird way smiling suited him. "It was a clue, sir," he said. "Dobby was giving you a clue. The Dark Lord, before he changed his name, could be freely named. You see?"

"Er — right," said Harry weakly, exchanging glances with Ronnie. From his expression, she knew what he was thinking: _What a clue. Not even the real Shirley Holes could have figured that one out._

"But now, Dobby shall have to leave, else he will never have time to finish polishing his family's silver before punishing himself," said Dobby. "Dobby's Mistress was very clear that she wanted all the silver to sparkle. Good-bye, children."

And with another loud CRACK, he was gone, leaving behind a corridor that seemed all the darker and more silent for his absence.

"Poor bugger," Ronnie finally said. "Bit of a nutter, mind, but…"

"He did stop my letters all Summer, got me in trouble with the Dursleys, and tried to block my way to Hogwarts," said Harry. "Not to mention that mad Bludger. Yeah, I'd say he was a bit of a nutter. But not a bad person."

"He doesn't deserve the Malfoys," said Neville with a sigh. "But he was right. We can't go against his enchantment."

"D'you suppose we could, perhaps, buy him off the Malfoys?" said Colin. "Then we could give him a sock and set him free. How much does a house-elf cost, anyway? If we all chipped in—"

Ginny shook her head. "They'd never sell," she said. "Especially not to us. Or more likely they'd demand a price we'd never be able to pay. Even Harry isn't _that_ rich."

"Oh." Colin looked crestfallen, but then brightened again. "Then maybe we could trick Mister Malfoy into handing him a sock or something!"

"Don't be ridiculous —" Hermione began.

"All right!" Fred suddenly said. "Challenge accepted!"

Everyone turned to look at him, and Ronnie wasn't too surprised to see the gleam of mischief in his eyes, the one that always showed up when he was plotting something really big.

"What d'you reckon, George?" he said, turning to his twin with a diabolical smile. "Up for a really _difficult_ prank?"

George's momentary confusion almost immediately gave way to an equally diabolical smile. "You know, I really liked that elf," he said. "Smarter than he looks, too. Notice how he left old Lucius stranded here under the pretence of having to polish silver? That was brilliant."

"And it's our duty to help a fellow prankster."

"Absolutely."

"Hold it!" said Percy. "You two can't start plotting against Lucius Malfoy! Yes, I agree that his house-elf deserves better, but — honestly, do you have any idea what that man could do to our family if you gave him cause?"

"I don't know, Perce," said Fred, and for once there was no humour in his voice. "Would it be better or worse than giving our sister a diary possessed by You-Know-Who? A diary that could have ended up _killing_ her?"

An uncomfortable silence sank over them all.

Then, Percy spoke again. "All right. Count me in."

Fred and George looked at him as if he had grown an extra head. _"Count you in?"_ they chorused.

"Of course," Percy nodded. He looked over at Harry and Ronnie, his jaw tightening as he turned back to the twins. "I obviously can't stop you from plotting against Lucius Malfoy, so the least I can do is make certain you hit him where it _hurts."_

For the first, and probably only time in their lives, Fred and George were completely dumbstruck.

 

* * *

 

It was about an hour later —

— after an angry departure by Lucius Malfoy, after a trip down to the hospital wing to wake Madam Pomfrey from her nap, after a lengthy explanation from Potter's Gang, after McGonagall had been asked to escort the rest of the students back to the Gryffindor common room —

— that Harry and Ronnie once more found themselves in Dumbledore's office. They were both healed up to the best of Dumbledore's abilities (which, it must be said, were better than Percy's), and even their robes had been quickly cleaned and mended by the Headmaster's expert wand. While they didn't look quite like new, at least now they wouldn't shock anyone with their appearance.

Now, Dumbledore was sitting behind his large desk, with Riddle's diary in front of him, and looked at Harry and Ronnie over his half-moon spectacles.

"Well," he said. "It seems like you have had quite the experience. I am starting to wonder whether I should forbid myself from leaving school grounds for the future — or at least without making absolute certain I know the two of you aren't going to stumble onto yet another situation while I am gone."

Ronnie felt herself go pink. "We didn't mean to —" she began.

"Peace, Ronnie." Dumbledore smiled briefly. "Of course I do not blame either of you. In fact — thanks to the two of you, today several mysteries from the past have finally been cleared up. That, in and of itself would be cause for great celebration…"

"But Riddle is free," said Harry with a heavy sigh. "And Aunt Petunia… Aunt Petunia is dead."

Ronnie swallowed. Again, the unwelcome image of Petunia's hateful glare as her life gave out and her body crumbled to dust played for her inner eye. _I think I just got a new thing to have nightmares about…_

"Yes," said Dumbledore gravely. "If I had but known that your relatives would be targeted like this, I would have made certain they were better protected. I know you and your Aunt never saw eye to eye, Harry, but…"

"I didn't want her to die," said Harry, repeating his earlier statement. "I suppose I just thought she'd go on living in the Muggle world. She'd be rid of me, and I'd be rid of her, and we'd both be happier for it."

Dumbledore nodded. "Your uncle and cousin need to be informed. If you would rather not do it, then I can take on the responsibility."

Harry shook his head. "Thank you, sir, but… you'll be busy, won't you? Riddle's out there, and then there's the basilisk…"

"Ah yes — Slytherin's infamous monster," said Dumbledore. "One of the most elusive mysteries in wizarding history. Whether it actually existed, where it could possibly be hiding, not to mention what sort of monster it was. But the basilisk is the least of our problems, Harry. Now that we know what sort of creature it is, and where it is hiding, we will be able to deal with it. I think I can guarantee that Slytherin's monster will never harm another human being again."

"That's something, at least," said Harry, smiling briefly.

"It is," said Dumbledore. "Of course, as I said, that is the lesser problem. Much more alarming is the fact that Tom Riddle is out there in the world."

"But it's only Riddle the way he was when he was sixteen, right?" said Ronnie hopefully. "He hasn't become You-Know-Who _yet,_ right? The _real_ You-Know-Who is still that bloody spectre thing we met last Christmas…"

"From what my sources have been able to piece together, " said Dumbledore, _"that_ Voldemort is currently hiding out in Albania. No doubt Tom Riddle will attempt to seek him out. If they should meet…!" He trailed off, looking thoughtful for a moment. Then, whatever thought had struck him, he seemed to brush it aside. "Luckily, I have a lot of favours I can call in. If I can convince the Ministry to act, perhaps Riddle can be stopped before such a meeting takes place."

Harry stroked back his fringe, trailing a finger over his scar. "There is one thing I wanted to ask," he said. "It might be nothing, but it seemed like it might be important."

"Please ask, Harry," said Dumbledore. "If I can answer, I will."

"When the basilisk venom didn't kill Ronnie and me," said Harry, "Riddle… well, he said something about… he couldn't believe we could have made… _Horcruxes?"_

Dumbledore looked at him, his expression unreadable. "Did he, now."

"Please, sir, what _are_ Horcruxes?" said Harry.

There was a long pause. Then, Dumbledore sighed. "I suppose I had better tell you." He reached out and gingerly picked up Riddle's diary. "Nicolas and I have been discussing whether or not I should tell you this. I was hoping against hope not to have to tell you yet… not for a few more years, at least. But Riddle himself is rather forcing my hand, it seems."

"Tell me what?" said Harry.

"Horcruxes, Harry," said Dumbledore, "are in fact the answer to another elusive mystery: Why Voldemort never died."

"So…" said Ronnie. "Horcruxes, whatever they are, stop you from dying?"

"Essentially, yes," said Dumbledore. "A Horcrux is among the Darkest artefacts a wizard can create. You will not learn about them here at Hogwarts, and I shall not go into all the gruesome details of what exactly is needed to create one. If you want to see one, however…" He held out the little black diary. "This is a Horcrux — or at least it used to be one."

Harry and Ronnie both stared at the little book. It looked so harmless and innocent — and yet, apparently both Crookshanks and Scabbers had been able to tell that something was off about it. Animals really had marvellous instincts.

"I actually started suspecting that the diary might be a Horcrux shortly after Ronnie told me about it," said Dumbledore. "It seemed like such a peculiar thing for Voldemort to have done; enchant a Muggle diary into talking back. But, now that we know its real nature, it makes sense — this book contained more than just Voldemort's memories."

"…like what, sir?" Ronnie heard herself say. The more she found out about this diary, the worse it seemed.

"Ronnie," said Dumbledore. "You know _Beedle the Bard._ Do you remember the tale of the Warlock's Hairy Heart?"

"Er, what?" Ronnie blinked, a little uncertain what this had to do with anything. "Well, yeah, of course. Fred and George used to love it 'cos it was so gory. I just thought it was stupid."

"So you remember what the titular warlock did with his heart."

"Yeah," Ronnie repeated. "He was an absolute lunatic, and he didn't want to risk falling in love, so he removed his own heart and stored it in a crystal casket… wait, hang on!" She looked down at the diary. "Are you saying You-Know-Who put his _heart_ in that bloody thing?"

"Not his heart," said Dumbledore. "A piece of his soul. If a Dark wizard does not want to die, he might split his soul and put a piece in it inside a container. For as long as that container is intact, the wizard cannot die."

 _"I went around with a piece of You-Know-Who's_ _**soul** _ _in my pocket?!"_

"But the soul is gone from the diary now, right?" said Harry. "It drained my Aunt… and then it left…"

"Harry!" Ronnie gasped. "D'you see what this means?"

"That my Aunt is dead because Voldemort wanted to live forever."

"Yes, but — oh, I didn't mean that!" Ronnie shifted and wrapped her arms around Harry, hugging him tightly. "I _am_ sorry about your Aunt. I wish we could have saved her. I wish I hadn't had to watch her —" she had to cut herself off for a moment and take a deep breath before she could continue. "But don't you see? If that diary kept You-Know-Who from dying because part of his soul was in there, and now that part of his soul isn't there anymore… He's bloody mortal, isn't he! _He can die!"_

"Alas, I fear it's not quite as simple as that," said Dumbledore.

"But —"

"I'm almost certain the diary was not Voldemort's only Horcrux," said Dumbledore. "No doubt it was his _first_ , given how it was created when he was but a teenager. But — I believe he must have created more than one. Just how many, I have no way of knowing just yet. But I am absolutely positive about one thing: If the diary had been Voldemort's only Horcrux, he would have hidden it in a place no-one could find it. He never would have left it with Lucius Malfoy."

"So that's how the Malfoys had the diary!" said Ronnie, letting go of Harry. "You-Know-Who gave it to them, when they were in his inner circle!"

"But why did he give the diary to Ronnie?" said Harry. "Did he know that… he _couldn't_ have known that it was a Horcrux, right? If he had, he'd have used it to call Voldemort back years ago, wouldn't he?"

"You're quite right, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Of course Lucius Malfoy had no idea what the diary was. He knew it was a powerful Dark artefact, and he knew it was connected to the Chamber of Secrets and Slytherin's monster. He was hoping that by planting it on someone it could… shall we say, cause enough problems that a certain Headmaster's competence would be called into question."

"Did he tell you that?" Ronnie was impressed. Getting Lucius Malfoy to confess to anything had to be near-impossible.

"Not willingly," said Dumbledore. He placed the diary down and looked at her. "If you remember, earlier today, you asked me if I was going to look into your head."

"Er — yes."

"Of course, I would not do that to a student — but it does not mean I _can't_ do it. It's called Legilimency — not a very exact branch of magic, but it can occasionally be used to gleam the surface thoughts of one whose mental defences are not strong enough. And Lucius Malfoy's defences are not quite as strong as he thinks they are."

"So…you read his mind?" said Harry.

"I do not like to. A person's mind is their last refuge. If we cannot have our thoughts to ourselves, then what is left?" Dumbledore sighed. "But occasionally, needs must. I was able to work out, in broad strokes, what Lucius Malfoy had done, and why he did it. I believe he had several motivations, but two of them were especially clear in his mind: He wanted to discredit me, since I did not adhere to his demands of how I should run the school. And… he wanted revenge."

"Revenge?" said Ronnie. "On who?"

"On you."

Ronnie blinked. "On _me?"_

"Alas, yes. As I understood it, young Draco has been carrying a grudge towards you ever since your first-year flying lesson."

"Oh. _That."_ Ronnie remembered. Back then she had slammed into Malfoy on purpose and tried to knock him off his broom, because... she couldn't actually remember why. Probably he had been his normal unbearable self at the time. Of _course_ he would have gone blabbing to his father about _'that awful Weasley girl.'_

"There is also the fact that you… did not show Lucius the respect he felt he was owed, when you met in Diagon Alley this Summer. I believe that when you brought up his past as a Death Eater, that was what made him decide to target you."

Ronnie felt herself turn pink. "Oh…"

"But we can't let him get away with that!" said Harry, suddenly looking angry. "Professor — if he hadn't given Ronnie that diary, my Aunt wouldn't have died! And Ronnie and Ginny, they could have — they could have…"

Dumbledore sighed. "The problem is, Harry, that thoughts are not proof. Legilimency is a notoriously unreliable branch of magic, and a court of law would never accept it as evidence."

"So," said Harry, looking sombre, "we can't do anything?"

"I did not say that," said Dumbledore. "Lucius Malfoy's day will come. Among other things, I rather suspect he will not be on the Board of Governors for much longer, not after the meeting Minerva and I had with him. And of course, I would not dream of robbing the Weasley brothers of their chance to, shall we say, teach him a lesson."

Ronnie gaped. "How did you know they'd--"

"I was an older brother myself, once," said Dumbledore quietly. For a moment, there was a strange look of sorrow in his brilliant blue eyes. But then he was back to normal, and Ronnie wasn't certain if that look had been there at all. "Nevertheless, I hope you will understand that there are too many other pressing matters right now that I can focus on punishing Lucius Malfoy for his crimes. Right now, I need to focus on other things... one of them being Tom Riddle. Speaking of which," he added, straightening his glasses and looking at Harry. "There is one thing I need to know."

"Er — yes, sir?"

"Did Tom ever actually touch you, physically, down in the Chamber of Secrets?"

Harry looked about as surprised by this question as Ronnie felt, but he did give it a moment's thought. "No," he said. "He didn't really have much opportunity to. At first he was non-corporeal and couldn't touch anything. He had Wormtail tie me up and take my wand, but he didn't come near me himself. And after he got his body, he just sent the basilisk after us."

"So he never got close to you."

"No," Harry repeated. "Is that important?"

"It might be," said Dumbledore. "I am working from a theory that he _can't_ touch you. If you remember your confrontation with Voldemort last year, I briefly spoke of how you had a protection against him…."

"Oh yes…" said Harry. "Because my mother sacrificed herself for me?"

"In essence, yes. I believe her sacrifice protected you against Voldemort. And unless I am much mistaken, you still have that protection in some form. It may be that he will find it difficult to touch you."

"But he doesn't have to touch Harry in order to kill him," said Ronnie. "He can just hit him with a curse or sic a basilisk on him! How much use is that protection?"

"Perhaps none at all," said Dumbledore. "Then again, perhaps a great deal. You must understand that there has never been a case such as Harry's before."

Ronnie's jaw dropped. "What?" she said, in a tone of voice that would no doubt have made Hermione scowl at her. "You mean _nobody_ 's Mum ever sacrificed herself for her children before?! That's _bollocks!_ With all due respect," she added as she realised that this was really not an acceptable way of talking to your Headmaster.

But Dumbledore just smiled. "Out of the mouths of babes," he said calmly. "You're quite right, of course — countless mothers, and fathers, have sacrificed themselves for their children, even against Voldemort. But none did so under those specific circumstances. I cannot, at the moment, reveal all that happened that night… partly because I don't know all the details and partly because it's not quite time for Harry to know them yet."

"Not quite time —" Harry's face looked like a big question mark.

"I am sorry," said Dumbledore. "Once again, I must ask for your patience. There are secrets that are not ready to be told just yet. I assure you, when you need to know, you will know."

"And I don't need to know why my mother's sacrifice saved my life?" said Harry, frowning slightly.

"For the moment," said Dumbledore, "it's probably more prudent to focus on the fact that her sacrifice saved your life, not dwell on the details why. Suffice to say, that whatever transpired between you and Voldemort that night, it not only left a protection on you, but it also created a certain connection between you. That, I believe, is why your scar hurts whenever he is too close."

"Is that — is that why I understand Parseltongue too?" said Harry.

"Very likely," said Dumbledore. "Tom Riddle was a natural Parselmouth. I doubt it was his intent to give you the ability… but, I believe I once said something about intent and outcome rarely being coincident. That would apply to this case as well."

"So that stupid book was right?!" Ronnie exclaimed. "Talking to snakes _is_ Dark!"

"The ability in and of itself isn't," said Dumbledore. "It has, perhaps, got a somewhat undeserved reputation for being so, because so many Dark wizards and witches have used it. But, as with so many other abilities, whether it is Dark or not wholly depends on what one uses it for. I trust, Harry, that you are not planning on commanding snakes to go out and kill people?"

"What?" Harry looked mortified. "Of course not!"

"Then I don't think there's anything to worry about." Dumbledore smiled again. "Well — there is much to be done, and I'm certain your friends are getting worried, so I'll need to chase you two back to your common room in a minute. I have a lot of fire-calls to make.

"But first, to finish this off on a lighter note…" He fished a small bottle of a silvery-white liquid out of his robe pocket. "I have your memory, Ronnie. I might need to show it to a few more people, but I wanted to make certain I had your consent first."

"Errrr… I suppose," said Ronnie. She'd almost forgotten the entire memory — which made sense, she supposed, given how it wasn't in her head anymore. "Did you show it to Mr. Lupin?"

"I did," said Dumbledore. "He agreed that it was indeed Peter Pettigrew you saw. After a bit of hesitation, he also confirmed that Pettigrew was, as Hermione had suspected, an illegal Animagus. And that his animal form was that of…"

"…a _rat,"_ Ronnie groaned.

"Precisely."

"I hope Crookshanks finds him," said Ronnie. "I'd like to kick that — _man_ — right in the — _head."_ (The substitute words did make her statement a little less passionate, but she could just imagine what Percy, or Hermione, or Mum, would say if they found out she'd been swearing in the Headmaster's office.)

"If anyone _can_ find him, it'll be Crookshanks," said Harry. "I think buying that cat for you was the smartest thing I ever did."

Ronnie felt herself turning pink. "I think _accepting_ him was the smartest thing _I_ ever did." She wanted to hug Harry again, but decided to wait.

Dumbledore slid the memory back down into his pocket. "Your admirable cat certainly does seem to have a talent for being exactly where he is needed," he said. "Lucky the witch — or wizard — who has a loyal pet. Am I right, Fawkes?"

Fawkes trilled from his perch, and Dumbledore chuckled.

"Er… Professor," said Ronnie. "Just one thing. Dunno if I _need to know it_ or not, but…"

Dumbledore smiled, despite the fact that he must have heard the sarcasm in her voice. "What did you want to ask, Ronnie?"

"Are you a Zoolingualist?"

"You mean, can I talk to birds?" said Dumbledore. "No. I was completely honest when I told Lucius Malfoy that I lacked that ability." He raised himself from his chair. "What I can do is, I think, a lot harder."

"What's that?"

"I can _listen."_ Dumbledore walked around the desk. "But — I hope you will forgive me for throwing you out, but I have a very important fire-call to make to Cornelius Fudge. I hope it is all right that I show him your memory, Ronnie?"

"You want to show my memory to the _Minister for Magic?!"_

"I may have to," said Dumbledore. "I predict I shall have problems enough getting him to listen to me about the return of Voldemort… he never quite believed me when I told him about last year's happenings. But I shall have to try — and that means that he may not be too eager to hear when I call for the immediate release of Sirius Black from Azkaban. But it can't be helped. I cannot, and will not, let an innocent man suffer that place for a day longer!"

 

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED…**

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Home stretch, people! There'll be one more chapter, plus an epilogue. Most of the mystery is solved, many secrets out in the open, though there are still some loose threads to gather. Will Crookshanks find Wormtail? Will Fudge release Sirius from Azkaban? What repercussions will Petunia's death have? And will Luna make another appearance before the fic is over? And what about Dobby?
> 
> I know it's not a common opinion among fans, but "Chamber of Secrets" might be my favourite Harry Potter book — at least, it was the book that actually made me a fan of the series.
> 
> "Philosopher's Stone," once it had slogged through the rather insufferable opening chapters, had been a pleasant read overall and a decent start to the series, but it was with "Chamber of Secrets" that Rowling really found the right tone for her books; here she hit on the perfect mix between whimsical, creepy and magical. But what really hooked me, I think, was that "Chamber of Secrets" is one of the best murder mysteries I've ever read.
> 
> I know it's "G-rated" murder at that; after all, the Petrified victims are all revived and nobody actually dies, but for all intents and purposes the story is about trying to find out who the serial killer is, and the solution to the mystery is presented extremely skilfully, with all the clues making sense in hindsight.
> 
> It was a bit of a disappointment, really, that the series moved away from the "mystery" format in the second half, in favour of more of a traditional coming-of-age, good-versus-evil story. Now, I won't claim to be as good a mystery writer as Rowling, but hopefully I managed to keep you guessing for at least some of this story.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So! Where have the updates been this year? Well, partly it's been writer's block, partly it's been that I've been busy with other things, and partly it's been… well, a few incidents that I'm not going to go into detail here.
> 
> This is the last "proper" chapter of Secrets of the Past, but the story isn't quite over; there'll be not one but two epilogues that wrap up a few things before the third and final story in the trilogy. See the author's notes at the end of the chapter for details!
> 
> And now, without any further ado...

 

_ABUSIVE MUGGLE DEAD; DUMBLEDORE BLAMES MURDER VICTIM AND TEENAGE YOU-KNOW-WHO_

_Albus Dumbledore (111), Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, is no stranger to controversy, but this time he may have topped himself with his outrageous claim that Harry Potter's abusive Muggle Aunt has been murdered by a teenage version of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, aided by long-dead murder victim._

_After Harry Potter's abusive relatives went missing back in September, speculations ran rampant as to what had happened to them, rumours that some wizard had found them and dealt out some much-needed retribution running rampant, but nobody had expected the abusive Muggles to be finally discovered at Hogwarts — one dead and one irrevocably insane. Neither had anyone anticipated Albus Dumbledore's statement that the culprit was one Peter Pettigrew, who was last seen on November 1_ _st_ _1981 when he along with twelve Muggles was killed by notorious mass murderer Sirius Black. Pettigrew, whom Dumbledore now claims faked his own death, supposedly acted on the orders of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, who used an enchanted Muggle diary to communicate with him. Allegedly, You-Know-Who and Pettigrew used the Muggles in a ritual that brought You-Know-Who back to life, albeit in a teenage body._

_Conveniently, when asked Dumbledore couldn't say where Pettigrew or You-Know-Who were at the moment, leading to some questions as to whether he was just making it up._

_A Ministry insider tells our Special Correspondent Rita Skeeter that "Dumbledore's story seems awfully convoluted and hinging on too many contrivances. Seems more likely to me that someone simply took it upon themselves to teach those Muggles a lesson by treating them the way they had treated Harry Potter, but forgot how ridiculously fragile Muggles are. Now Dumbledore's just covering for them. The same way he covered up Professor Quirinus Quirrell's death last year, by saying it was You-Know-Who."_

_While rumours that Dumbledore orchestrated the entire incident himself are currently unfounded, readers might want to ask themselves: If he is covering up for whoever delivered what they no doubt viewed as well-deserved retribution, does this perhaps mean that in light of new events, even Albus Dumbledore is reconsidering his well-known love for Muggles?_

Ronnie put down the paper, deciding that she'd read enough. That was the last time she'd ever pick up a discarded  _Daily Prophet,_  no matter how much people left it behind in the Gryffindor common room.

"This is so stupid," she complained.

"It's Rita Skeeter," said Harry, who'd had a serious grudge against anything from the  _Daily Prophet_ , and especially anything written by Rita Skeeter, ever since August. "What  _had_  you expected?"

"I don't remember," said Ronnie. "But it wasn't this. Look, not even a word about my memory of Wormtail! I  _know_  Dumbledore showed it to the Minister for Magic! What's that idiot  _doing_ , not even mentioning it to the  _Prophet?"_

Harry made a grimace. "Does it say anything about Sirius Black?"

"Doesn't look like it — oh, wait.  _Sirius Black, still imprisoned in Azkaban, has been unavailable for comment."_

"How's he been unavailable for comment?" said Ronnie. "What, they called on him, but he'd gone out shopping or something?" She shook her head in disgust. "I can't believe they turned this into another anti-Muggle tirade!" she fumed. "You-Know-Who is out there, and  _Wormtail_  is out there, and all this Rita Skeeter woman wants to talk about is how Muggles are scum and Dumbledore secretly hates them? What time is it, anyway?"

Harry glanced at his watch. "Quarter to six. It'll probably be another hour before anyone else wakes up."

"Yeah… even Hermione was asleep when I left the dormitories," said Ronnie. "Lucky."

It wasn't often Ronnie was awake anywhere near this early. She was more a night person, really; stay up all night and then sleep until noon, that was her ideal lifestyle. But the last couple of days, sleep had been difficult. Especially when she knew Dreamless Sleep potion wouldn't work on her, and Crookshanks wasn't there to soothe her with his purring.

In the end, having woken up from yet another bad dream about people disintegrating in front of her eyes, she had given up on sleep and gone down to the common room. Where, not too surprisingly, she had met Harry, who seemed to have similar problems sleeping.

It had been two days since the events down in the Chamber of Secrets. Two painstakingly long days.

Life at Hogwarts was slowly starting to return to some approximation of normal. Sure, Lavender, Lockhart and the ghosts were still out of action, and none of them would be revived until next year, when the Mandrakes were finally ready — and Defence Against The Dark Art was cancelled  _again_ , until Dumbledore could find a substitute teacher for Lockhart — but the terror that had threatened to spread after Lockhart's Petrification had faded, now that Slytherin's monster had finally been discovered and an abridged version of the events down in the Chamber of Secrets had been told to the general student body — and, it seemed, to the press.

To their credit, nobody at Hogwarts had crowded Harry with condolences or expressions of how sorry they were about his Aunt; everyone in Gryffindor knew Harry well enough now to realise how much he would have  _hated_  that, and the word had spread to the other houses. Even the Slytherins had been tactful… or possibly they were just too angry that their monster had been neutralised to think of any insults…

Ronnie didn't know what Dumbledore had done with the basilisk, and she hadn't wanted to ask. Perhaps he'd followed Percy's advice and taken a dozen roosters down into the Chamber of Secrets… all right, maybe not.

All she knew was that he'd said that the basilisk "would never threaten Hogwarts again."

Was she weird for secretly hoping that the Headmaster had found some way of rendering the basilisk harmless without killing it? Basilisks were dangerous and vicious monsters, they killed with a look and without any hesitation, they couldn't be tamed and, let's face it, the only reason nobody had died these last few months were sheer bloody luck. The basilisk would certainly have killed both her and Harry, and eaten them too.

And yet…

The image of Petunia Dursley flashed before her inner eye again, turning grey and crumbling to dust.

Ronnie grimaced. Maybe she just didn't feel like wishing death on anyone after having seen it up close.

"Any sign of Crookshanks?" she asked, forcing her thoughts away from their current direction.

Harry shook his head, motioning to the Marauder's Map, which was lying on the table in front of him. "Can't see him anywhere. He's not in any of the corridors, at least. No sign of Wormtail either."

"He's never been gone this long before," Ronnie muttered. She'd only seen Crookshanks once since their trip to the Chamber of Secrets; he'd stopped by the Gryffindor table at lunch the previous day to beg table scraps, but hadn't wanted to return to Gryffindor Tower with her. It was clear that he was trying to track down Wormtail.

She wasn't  _too_ worried about her cat; he'd encountered a basilisk and was fine. But Christmas holidays were coming up, and there was talk of Harry and the Weasleys being allowed to leave a few days sooner so that Harry could attend his Aunt's funeral — and if Crookshanks didn't show up before then, they might have to leave him behind.

"They have to be somewhere the Map doesn't register," said Harry. "Like the Chamber of Secrets or the Room of Requirement, maybe?"

"Probably not there," said Ronnie. "That rat has to know those were the first places we'd look."

"There are probably other places the Map doesn't show," said Harry. "The Marauders were great at exploring, but I don't think they found  _all_  the secrets of the castle. Looks like they never found the Hufflepuff common room, for instance."

"Really?" Ronnie looked again. The Map was hard to get a full overview over even at the best of times.

"Yeah, if you see here…" Harry pointed. "Here's Gryffindor Tower, that's clear enough. And then the Ravenclaws are  _here_ , in the Western tower. And I think  _this_  is the Slytherin common room, just next to this secret passageway in the dungeons…"

Ronnie followed his finger with her eyes. "The Slytherins live in the dungeons? Don't even know why I'm surprised."

"It does suit them, doesn't it?" Harry agreed. "As for Hufflepuff… no idea. I still haven't been able to find it on the Map."

"We could ask Luna where it is," said Ronnie. "Bet she'd tell us!"

"Probably not such a good idea," said Harry, looking over the Map again. "She might take it the wrong way if we asked. I still can't figure her out…"

"I don't think anyone can," said Ronnie. "Hey, isn't that Hagrid?" she suddenly exclaimed, motioning to the two lone dots on the map she'd spotter moving across the grounds, close to the Forbidden Forest. And just as she'd thought, the two dots were marked 'RUBEUS HAGRID' and 'FANG.'

"He's up early," said Harry, peering at the dots.

"I suppose a gamekeeper needs to be up at all sorts of odd hours," said Ronnie. "Maybe he's been tending to some of the animals in the Forbidden Forest. Maybe he's been talking to the centaurs, I heard there's an entire herd of them in there."

 _"Mischief Managed."_  Harry tapped the Map with his wand, leaving it a harmless-looking piece of blank parchment again. "Up for a walk? We really should go apologise to him for running out on him the day before yesterday."

"Yeah, all right," said Ronnie. "Better than just sitting around, anyway, since we're not finding anyone on this Map. If he's busy we can always go back to the castle. Just let me get my winter cloak."

 

* * *

 

"I don't see why you students keep waking me up at these inappropriate hours," the Fat Lady grumbled as her portrait swung aside to let Harry and Ronnie out. "It's more than two hours until breakfast, and I was having a nice dream!"

"Lucky!" said Ronnie, wrapping her winter cloak around herself. After the nice warm dormitory and common room, the corridor felt chilly. "Haven't seen my cat, have you? Big ginger tom, long fur, looks sort of grumpy?"

"I may see him in my dreams if you let me sleep," said the Fat Lady, sinking back down onto the background of the painting and closing her eyes.

"Bloody helpful paintings we have here at Hogwarts!" Ronnie muttered.

"Better than some people I've met," said Harry philosophically.

It wasn't quite as eerie to walk through Hogwarts before sunrise as it was to walk through it after dark. There was this almost comforting feeling that the school was just about to wake up and start the new day. In only a couple of hours, before the sun decided to grace them with their presence, students and teachers would be walking through the hallways and up and down the various staircases (jumping over the vanishing steps of that one tricky staircase without even thinking about it), heading for breakfast in the Great Hall.

But as if yet, everything was peaceful. It was almost enough to make you want to make a habit of getting up earlier, to be able to experience something like this more often; being the only ones awake in a world of sleeping people.

They reached the ground floor — taking the last two steps in one jump — and headed for the main entrance.

The grounds were dark and cold, covered in a heavy blanket of snow. Winter in Northern Scotland meant short days and dark mornings, and now in December the sun was an infuriatingly late riser, usually not bothering to show itself before classes were almost ready to start at nine.

"D'you know if rats ever burrow through snow?" Harry asked, looking at the white grounds.

"They can," said Ronnie. "Don't really like doing it, though. If you're asking me what  _Wormtails_  do, I have no bloody clue."

Snow crunching under their boots, they set out towards Hagrid's hut. The Forbidden Forest was looming in the distance, looking even darker and more forbidden than usual in the winter landscape, but there was a light in Hagrid's hut; the windows glowing in a friendly and inviting way. Either Hagrid was in, or he wasn't too far away.

Ronnie had just thought this when she thought she caught a strange movement further ahead. She turned her head to look, but by then it was gone.

She squinted as she pulled her cloak a little tighter around herself. Was there something moving there, by the trees? In the dark, it was hard to make out… Yes, there had been something there — a small movement of something too big to be a cat or a rat — but now it was gone again.

For a moment, she stiffened. She remembered all too well how she and Harry had met You-Know-Who in the Forest last year; and knowing that right now, a teenage version of that same monster was out there…

"Are you all right?" said Harry.

"I —" Ronnie took another look to make certain, but still there was nothing ahead except hut and forest, ground and snow; none of which looked inclined to start moving anytime soon. "Did you see something just now?"

"Er… apart from a lot of snow, no." Harry sounded a little uncertain. "Why, did  _you_  see something?"

"I…" Ronnie suddenly felt silly. "I thought I did, but..." Was this something like when Harry had heard the basilisk? No, couldn't be… Her Warning Fang had grown hot every time the basilisk was near, and it was still quite cool against her skin.

A sense of relief washed over her as she saw something else emerge from the Forest, something much more familiar and welcome.

"Oh, there's Hagrid! And Fang!" She raised her hand to wave.

Fang let out a happy bark when he saw them, and before she knew it the huge boarhound was at her side, tail wagging furiously as he tried to place his paws on her shoulders and lick her face.

"Hi, Fang — ack — yes, I'm happy to see you too — not the face!" Ronnie squealed as she tried getting the overenthusiastic dog to calm down a little.

 _"Down,_  Fang, c'mon!" Hagrid was only a few strides behind his dog; the huge man had frost in his beard and a long, striped scarf around his neck that was almost certainly home-knitted (probably by Hagrid himself, considering the clumsy job). "What're you two doin' out so early? Can't even be six o'clock yet!"

"Couldn't sleep," said Ronnie, as Fang reluctantly gave up on his project of jumping up on her, in exchanged for her scratching his ears.

"We kind of wanted to apologise to you for the other day," said Harry. "For running out on you and everything."

"Oh, that?" Hagrid smiled. "No harm done, Harry. Bit of a shock yeh had. 'Sides, Dumbledore was over at me hut yesterday, tol' me some of what you had been through…" His smile faded, and he looked at them both with sympathetic, beetle-black eyes. "Awful story. Was thinkin' o' droppin' by later today to see how yeh were doin'. How  _are_  yeh holdin' up?"

"Would have been better if I knew where Crookshanks was," said Ronnie. "You haven't —"

"Haven't seen 'im, sorry," said Hagrid. "Fang woulda sniffed 'im out if he was anywhere near."

"He wouldn't have tried to chase Crookshanks, would he?" said Ronnie, looking at Fang with some concern — though she was fairly certain if it ever came to a confrontation between Fang and Crookshanks, Crookshanks would win without even trying.

"Hah! Run away from 'im, more like," said Hagrid fondly and patted Fang on the back. "Mos' cowardly dog I've ever had, aren' yeh, boy?"

"Woof!" said Fang enthusiastically, probably responding more to the fondness in Hagrid's tone than to his actual words.

"Bit of a shocker, what Dumbledore tol' me," said Hagrid. "Sorry ter hear abou' yet Aunt, Harry. I on'y met 'er once, of course, an'… er…. Migh' not have made the best impression. Still…"

"Still," Harry agreed. "I don't think Uncle Vernon's going to be able to attend the funeral. They transferred him to St. Mungo's yesterday." He shook his head. "I still can't believe that Wormtail would have convinced Tom Riddle to go after my Aunt and Uncle."

"Not like he'd care what happened to a coupla Muggles," said Hagrid. "Not if he killed twelve of 'em jus' ter fake his own death." He frowned. "He fooled me, all righ'! Coulda sworn he was dead! I  _did_  swear he was dead, come ter think of it… Poor Sirius, can't even  _imagine_  how it musta been like for him."

"You believe that Sirius Black is innocent, then?" said Harry. "The  _Daily Prophet_ doesn't."

Hagrid looked surprised. "Dumbledore says he is, 'course I believe it! I'll take his word over those ruddy idiots in the  _Prophet_  any day! That Skeeter woman haven' got half the sense she was born with! Besides, I know you two — yeh said yeh saw Pettigrew, an' yeh wouldn' lie about summat like that!"

"They haven't exactly asked us," said Ronnie. "Don't know what they're even thinking. Dumbledore still has my memory of Wormtail! He was showing it to the Minister and everything!"

"Yeah, but they're claimin' it's too easy to create a fake memory," said Hagrid. "Codswallop, if y'ask me. No — Pettigrew's the murderer, all right. Jus' wish I'd seen it sooner." He clenched his fists. "Eleven years, I've bin so  _angry_  at Sirius Black. Bin even angrier at meself for not jus' punchin' his lights out when I had the chance. Now I find he's bin innocent all this time…"

"Good thing you  _didn't_  punch his lights out, then!" said Harry, trying to smile.

"Mitghta bin kinder if I had, really," said Hagrid. "Eleven years in Azkaban… they'll be lucky if they can get a sensible word outta him. All down ter Pettigrew! If I'd known — he was right there, all along! "

"How much did Dumbledore tell you?" said Ronnie, forcing herself not to think about how Wormtail had been right there in her home (even in her room) all this time.

Hagrid calmed down a little. "Mos'ly the basics," he said. "Yeh could say I had a bit of an interest in Slytherin's monster from old."

"Oh?" Harry looked curious.

"Well…" Hagrid looked a little reluctant to say anything more. "Yeh see, it was like this…"

"Wait!" Ronnie interrupted. "What's that?"

Just for a moment, like before, she had seen something move in between the trees. Something weirdly formless, as if someone under a Disillusionment Charm was moving about, but then it had vanished again.

"What's what?" Harry turned to look in the same direction she was staring.

Then, to their surprise, Hagrid (possibly thankful for the distraction) said in the same tone of voice he used when talking to Fang: "Aw, Ten! What have I tol' yeh about followin' me outta the Forest?"

"Ten?!" said Ronnie, squinting to try and see who it was Hagrid was talking to. There was nothing there, that she could see… now there wasn't even a movement…

_Wait!_

Just at the edge of the Forest, some of the snow was shifting about, as if something invisible was stepping on it — then, plain as day, hoof-like footprints started forming on the white ground, right next to Hagrid's and Fang's, as a soft snorting sound signalled the arrival of the unseen creature.

Harry looked at the ground, green eyes widening behind his classes. "Please tell me I'm not the only one seeing hoof-prints appear in the snow."

"Hagrid!" Ronnie exclaimed, once again remembering their unplanned journey into the Forest last year. "Is that a Thestral?!"

"Oh!" said Harry, understanding dawning on his face. Of course, he too remembered the trip to the forest, and the invisible horses that Neville had seen, but which had been invisible to him and Ronnie.

"Tha's a Thestral, all righ'!" said Hagrid proudly, then looked concerned. "Can't see him yet, can yeh? It'd be too soon…"

"I thought I saw  _something_ , but…" Ronnie trailed off.

"Well," said Hagrid. "This here's Tenebrus. He's mine — well, belongs to the school, really, him an' his herd. It's me job ter look after 'em. I reckon we have the on'y large herd o' trained Thestrals in the whole of Great Britain, and Tenebrus here was the firs' one born at Hogwarts — Now, Ten, behave! Don' worry, he's a big ol' softie!"

This last part came just as Ronnie felt something invisible pressed against her — Tenebrus was clearly expressing affection the same way Fang did.

"Oh, hey… yes, hello, Tenebrus!" she managed to say. Bracing herself, she blindly tried to stroke his muzzle, which was a little awkward when her eyes told her she was only stroking thin air but her hand told her it was stroking something soft and warm.

Once more, for a moment could have sworn she saw movement in the air, as Tenebrus arched his head against her hand, but then it was gone. However, Fang was wagging his tail, looking like he knew precisely where the Thestral was… of course, dogs relied much more on the sense of smell than the sense of sight. It wouldn't matter too much to Fang whether or not he could see Tenebrus; he'd be able to  _smell_  him just fine.

"Beau'iful animals, Thestrals," said Hagrid. "Dead clever too, always know exactly where they're goin'. Ridiculous, really, how people still think they're bad luck."

"Yeah — ridiculous," Ronnie agreed, deciding not to mention that she herself had thought exactly that until last year. "Really nice to meet you," she said, stroking the invisible creature. "Sorry, I can't really see you, but —  _oh!"_

Startled, she fell backwards, landing on her arse in the snow.

For a very brief moment, she'd been staring into a black, elongated face that looked slightly like a horse, slightly like a dragon, and a lot like a walking animal corpse — with purely white eyes staring at her without pupils or expression.

"What happened?" Harry helped her back onto her feet.

"I — saw him!" She gasped and squinted, trying to get another look, but Tenebrus had gone invisible again.

"You did?" Harry squinted, clearly trying to see if he could spot Tenebrus as well.

"Takes yeh by surprise, don' it?" said Hagrid sympathetically. "Remember my firs' time seein' a Thestral."

Ronnie struggled to get her breath back under control. "It's true then — you can see Thestrals — if you've watched someone snuff it —"

"Yeah," said Hagrid seriously, placing one giant hand on her shoulder and another on the invisible Tenebrus. "Not straight away, mind. Death's an awf'ly big thing ter grasp. Yer mind's gotta work it out first, really understand an' accept what it's seen. Surprised yeh've started ter see already, really… usually it takes weeks, sometimes even months..."

"I saw… I saw Harry's Aunt die," said Ronnie, with a quick glance over at Harry. She could hear how small and helpless her own voice sounded. "She just… crumbled to dust… right before my eyes."

Hagrid patted her on the back, unusually gently. Fang was licking her hand, and even Tenebrus was snorting in what sounded like a sympathetic way, pressing his invisible head against her.

"Well," said Hagrid. "Over time, yeh'll be able ter see the Thestrals more clearly… It's gradual. Yeh'll be seein' glimpses, like movements or shadows, or yeh'll catch 'em through the corner of yer eye… then, one day, they're right there, plain as day, an' yeh see 'em as clearly as any other animal. That's when yeh know it's really sunken in."

"I know Neville can see them," Ronnie admitted.

"Shouldn't  _I_  be able to see them?" said Harry, as if something had been bothering him. "I did see my parents die when I was a baby, and I definitely  _know_  they're dead..."

"Yeah, but I don't think that'd count," said Hagrid. "Not fer a baby. Yeh'd have bin too young ter know what was goin' on. Don't remember seein' it, do yeh?"

"No," Harry admitted. "Well, sometimes I think I remember a flash of green light, but that's all."

"There yeh are, then," said Hagrid sympathetically. "Awful thing ter live through, but it wouldn' make yeh see the Thestrals. Neville, I didn' know he could see 'em, but there aren' many kids yer age who can. Thank goodness."

"You can see them, can't you?" said Ronnie, looking up at him. "Who —?" She stopped, suddenly uncertain if she really wanted to ask.

"Too many people," said Hagrid gruffly. "But the firs' one… the firs' one was me Dad."

"Oh!" Ronnie winced. "Sorry."

"S'okay. It was more'n fifty years ago. It gets better."

"I'm not even that upset!" Ronnie blurted out. "I mean — I didn't  _like_  her! She was awful! I mean, I'm sorry, Harry, but she  _was!"_

"I've said the same thing often enough," said Harry dryly.

"Yeah, but — But I can't help but think — if I hadn't been such an idiot, she wouldn't have died! If I'd just gone to Dumbledore with that bloody diary straight away — or if I'd bothered to think about why Scabbers was still alive after twelve years — or if I hadn't decided to break you out from the Muggles in the first place —"

"Ronnie," said Harry. "Don't do this to yourself. It's not your fault, okay? You didn't know!"

"He's righ'!" said Hagrid. "Thinkin' like  _that_ won't get yeh anywhwere. Same as me startin' ter blame meself fer the deaths o' those thirteen people, really… well,  _twelve_  people, since Pettigrew wasn' dead. But still, if I hadn' let Sirius go, he prolly wouldn'ta cornered Pettigrew like that, an' those twelve Muggles wouldn'ta died. But you were the one who tol' me I shouldn' blame meself, remember?"

"But…" Ronnie said helplessly.

A slight, vaguely horse-like whinny close to her ear signalled Tenebrus's agreement, or possibly that he wanted her to pet him a little more. Just to be safe, she obliged — really, thinking back at the brief glimpse she'd got of him, he hadn't looked  _that_  scary. Sort of cute, really, in a weird corpse-dragon type of way. In a strange way, she was almost looking forward to getting another glimpse.

Before that happened, though, Hagrid spoke again. "C'mon," he said, motioning to his hut not too far off. "It's freezin'. Best get inside an' warm up a little. Least I can do is get a cuppa hot tea in yeh before walkin' yeh back ter the castle."

 

* * *

 

Hagrid's hut was as charmingly cluttered and homey as always; from the oversized chairs to the various cured meats and assorted items hanging from the ceiling, to the brass kettle steaming over the happily burning fireplace. A comfortably warm Ronnie sat in one of the chairs, holding a steaming mug of tea with one hand and stroking the top of Fang's head with the other, with Harry at her side and Hagrid opposite her.

"Always knew he'd be back," Hagrid finally said. "You-Know-Who, I mean. 'Specially after last year, what with that episode with Quirrell an' all. Knew then that it was jus' a matter o' time… Leastways this time we're forewarned. Didn' really expect that part about a diary, or about Tom Riddle, min' yeh. But I dunno why I'm surprised. Never liked that Riddle bloke."

"You knew Tom Riddle?" said Harry in surprise. "I mean, while he was still Tom Riddle?"

"Didn' know him  _afterwards_ , that's fer sure," said Hagrid. "But yeah, he was a Prefect for Slytherin when I was a student. Didn' have much ter do with him, not before he… but that was a long time ago, no use draggin' it up again," he added hurriedly.

"Do you know  _everyone,_  Hagrid?" said Harry. "You knew the Marauders, and the Malfoys, and you know Rita Skeeter, and you knew You-Know-Who when he was a student…"

Hagrid shrugged. "Bin here at Hogwarts for a long time," he said. "Anyway, yeh want ter talk about who really knows everyone, yeh don't need ter look any further than Dumbledore. He's got a lotta friends, and a lotta contacts out there. Guessin' he'll be contactin' mos' of them before the week's over. Tellin' 'em ter keep a watch out for Riddle. He was hintin' that he migh' have some job fer me as well… we'll see. Great man, Dumbledore. Long as we've got him, I'm not too worried abou' what's gonna come — here now, who could that be?"

This last part was in response to an erratic knock on the door, just as Fang tore himself away from Ronnie and ran up to the door while barking loudly.

"Don' usually get visitors at this hour," said Hagrid, raising himself. "It's not Dumbledore, I know his knock — _back,_ Fang!"He grabbed the barking Fang gently, but firmly by the collar and held him back with one hand as he opened the door with the other.

A familiar orange streak darted in, running between Hagrid's legs and headed for the chair Ronnie was sitting in. Fang managed to twist out of Hagrid's grasp, barking at the orange streak like mad — only to stop when the cat turned around to give him a very stern, disapproving, yellow-eyed look.

The staring contest lasted all of two seconds before Fang lowered his head and slinked off into a corner with his tail between his legs. The victor of the contest gave a nonchalant flick of his own bottle-brush tail and leapt up onto Ronnie's lap.

"Crookshanks!" Joy and relief flooding through her, Ronnie took her cat in her arms and held him close as he started to purr up a storm.

"When'd he learn to knock on doors?" said Harry, looking about as relieved as Ronnie felt.

"He hasn't, at least not yet," came a familiar, dreamy voice, from the entrance. "That was probably why he asked me to do it for him."

It was Luna Lovegood, with snow in her hair and what looked like a small box under her arm, and looking even smaller and frailer than usual next to the enormous Hagrid. "Hello, Mister Hagrid," she said, looking up at him.

Hagrid, who had been calling over to the still-cowering Fang with a mix of concern and mild exasperation ("It's jus' a cat, Fang, yeh're five times bigger'n him!") turned to Luna with a warm smile. "Ah, jus' call me Hagrid," he said. "If yeh go around callin' me 'mister,' I won't know who yeh're talkin' to. So, what can I do fer you?"

"That's a good question," said Luna solemnly. "I don't know yet. I don't really know you all that well, so I'm not certain what you can and can't do. Oh, wait, I do know something you can do!" she suddenly said, her face lighting up in a smile. "Could you let me in?"

"Er —" Hagrid blinked, in the way people usually did when they weren't certain if Luna was making fun of them or not.

"It's really important," said Luna. "I have something for Veronica. Hello, Veronica! Hello, Harry!" She stamped the snow off her boots as Hagrid finally moved aside to let her in.

"Hi, Luna." (Ronnie had long since given up trying to get the younger girl to call her 'Ronnie.') "What're you doing here?"

"Crookshanks told me to come! Oh — I'm sorry," Luna added, looking at the cowering Fang and then at Hagrid. "Is your dog allergic to cats?"

Despite himself, Hagrid had to chuckle. "Nah, he's just a ruddy coward," he said. "Mind yeh, cats make  _me_  start sneezin' summat awful, but I can manage half-Kneazles all righ'… just so long as I don' have ter pick 'im up or anything. But I reckon Ronnie's got that 'un covered."

"Absolutely," Ronnie promised, giving Crookshanks another hug before looking over at Luna. "But what d'you mean, he told you? Did you do the Animal Talk Charm or something?"

"No, what's the Animal Talk Charm? Oh, wait — never mind, I think I just guessed," said Luna.

"Yeah, it's pretty obvious," said Ronnie dryly.

"Yes, but I didn't do anything like that," said Luna. "But when a cat moves around you and keeps looking back at you to see if you're following him, then it's pretty obvious that you're supposed to come with him, isn't it?"

"Can't argue with that logic," said Hagrid. "Lemme get yeh a cuppa tea while yeh're here, the kettle's on…" He moved over to the fireplace.

"Thank you!" said Luna politely. She moved up to the table and placed the box she'd been holding down between Ronnie and Harry. "I think Crookshanks wants you to see this," she said.

"Er — what's this?" Harry looked at the box, then at Crookshanks, then at Luna.

"This," said Luna dramatically, as if she was about to deliver an Earth-shattering revelation, "is the proof that Gabriel Truman was wrong!"

"What?!" said Ronnie. "Luna, I know it's a lot to ask, but could you at least  _try_  to make sense for once? Who's Gabriel Truman?"

"Oh, he's one of the Hufflepuff Prefects," said Luna. "He was the one who made the welcome speech to the first-years, told us where everything is and things like that. He  _also_  told us that no outsiders had ever seen the Hufflepuff common room or dormitories for more than a thousand years. But that was wrong, and the proof is right here in this box!"

Ronnie was just pondering the merits of losing her temper completely with the silly girl, when Crookshanks lightly bopped her nose with his paw and stared meaningfully at the box on the table.

It was made of metal, its lid filled with air holes so that its content wouldn't suffocate — and small scratching noises came from inside as if whatever was inside the box was desperately trying to get out.

"Harry!" Ronnie gasped, grabbed his arm and pointing to the box. "The Hufflepuff common room! Get it?"

Harry looked at the box as well. "The Marauders never found the Hufflepuff common room…" he said, understanding dawning.

"…but  _he_  must have!" Ronnie finished.

"Are you all right?" Luna looked at them both with concern in her eyes.

"Luna!" said Harry. "D'you realise what you've done?!"

"…did I do something I shouldn't have?" said Luna in a small voice.

 _"You've bloody well gone and caught a murderer!"_  Ronnie exclaimed. All of a sudden, it was like she was seeing Luna for the first time all over again. How could she  _ever_  have thought that she didn't like this amazing girl?

Almost impossibly, Luna's eyes had grown even bigger than usual. "A murderer?" she repeated. "I didn't mean to catch a murderer! I got up early to see if any of the plants in the Hufflepuff common room were really Skelps in disguise — they like to pretend to be plants, you know," she added as if this should be common knowledge. "But instead I found this rat hiding among the plants. I knew it couldn't really be a rat, so I caught it in this box!"

Now it was Harry's turn to blink. "Wait — how did you know it wasn't a real rat?"

"Because there aren't any rats in the Hufflepuff common room," said Luna, as if this should be obvious. "If one shows up, it's either badly lost or it's not a rat at all. This rat didn't look lost, so that meant it wasn't a rat! I was planning to show him to Professor Sprout, but then your cat showed up and got me to follow him instead. It seemed very important that I did."

Hagrid, who had clearly been listening from by the fireplace, had joined them by the table again. "Illegal Animagus!" he said. "Wouldn'ta thought he coulda done it. Jus' goes ter show, yeh shouldn' underestimate people. So!" He added, glaring at the box. "Best get this thing ter Dumbledore right away! He'll know what ter do!"

"No, wait." Ronnie suddenly felt strangely calm. She placed Crookshanks down on the table next to the box and fished her wand out of her pocket. "I have to make  _sure_. I'm not barging into another scene without making certain there isn't another detail I've missed. Luna, open the box."

"What?!" Harry protested. "He'll just get away!"

"Not with Crookshanks right there, he won't," said Ronnie. "And there's a spell Dumbledore taught me that I'm going to try out right now. I know I can do it, especially after all the time we spent learning Untransfiguration in McGonagall's class. If we're right, we'll  _know."_

"That sounds very logical," said Luna, picking the box up. "Besides, Crookshanks took me to you and not to the Headmaster's office. I trust you, Veronica."

With that, she opened the box. And all at once, a very familiar-looking grey rat sprang out and landed on the table.

Scabbers looked awful. If Ronnie hadn't known now just what a dirty bastard she had in front of her, she might have felt pity; the rat was thinner than when last she'd seen him in this form, and looked to have lost a lot of fur. There was nothing wrong with his agility, though; as soon as his little paws touched the surface of the table he was off like a grey streak, scampering across the table to try and get away.

He didn't even get halfway before Crookshanks was on him, pinning him down to the table.

The rat screamed and squeaked, desperately trying to get loose, but Crookshanks had him pinned so that he couldn't even turn his head around to try and bite.

"I told you," said Ronnie, smiling sweetly at Harry. "Best cat in the world!"

"That's definitely Scabbers," said Harry breathlessly. "Which means…"

 _"Homorphus!"_  Ronnie cried, pointing her wand at the struggling rat. A flash of blue-white light erupted from the wand, striking at both Scabbers and Crookshanks.

Crookshanks didn't even react, but Scabbers let out an ear-piercing squeak before starting to twitch and convulse violently under the cat's paws.

There was another flash of light, and then —

Luna let out a soft squeak of surprise.

The transformation had happened so fast that it was almost like seeing the small, twitching rat explode into the fat, balding man in shabby robes who was not lying on his belly on the table — and with a somewhat agitated Crookshanks on his back.

Wormtail slowly lifted his head. His face was almost as grey as his fur had been. "D-don't hurt me," he stammered. "P-please — this, this, this is all just a terrible, terrible misunderstanding —"

He didn't get any further before Hagrid, with an angry snarl of  _"YOU!",_  grabbed him by his robes and lifted him up into the air, just as Crookshanks leapt off him to land on the floor.  _"TRAITOR!"_

"I'm not a traitor!" Wormtail yelled, struggling in Hagrid's grip. "It was Sirius! It was all Sirius!"

 _"DON'T EVEN TRY!"_  Hagrid cut him off.  _"DUMBLEDORE TOLD ME! YEH SOLD OUT LILY AN' JAMES AND YEH FRAMED SIRIUS FOR IT!"_

When Hagrid let the small man come to rest again (though without easing his grip on him), Wormtail was breathing heavily, looking close to tears. "It's all just a terrible misunderstanding," he repeated, looking at Harry. "Harry — Harry, you have to believe me… your parents, they were my friends… you look so much like your father, Harry… he wouldn't have wanted you to do anything to me!"

Harry was breathing heavily. "It's a little late to start pleading," he said. "Not after you kidnapped me and took me to the Chamber of Secrets! Not after I pleaded for help and you ignored it! Not after I found out you were the one that convinced Tom Riddle to go after my Aunt and Uncle! Not after you  _sold my parents out to Voldemort!"_

Luna gasped and hid herself behind Hagrid at the mention of the name. Even Wormtail cringed in Hagrid's grasp, though Hagrid himself seemed too agitated to react.

"And  _especially_  not," Harry continued, "after you put my best friend under the Imperius!"

"That, that wasn't me!" said Wormtail feebly. "I mean — You-Know-Who had  _me_  under the Imperius! He was making me do thing I didn't want, I couldn't help it! I swear, I never  _wanted_  to hurt you!"

"Did he have you under the Imperius when you betrayed my parents?" said Harry. "Or when you stole the diary from Ronnie on the Hogwarts Express?!"

"A-all a misunderstanding!" Wormtail turned his head to look at Ronnie. "Y-you know me, Ronnie, I'm not a murderer — I lived in the same house as you for more than ten years, and I never did anything to anyone, did I?"

"You lived in my  _room!_ Ginny let you sleep in her  _bed,_ you —!" Ronnie had to pause to think up a nasty enough name to call him.

"I didn't enjoy it! —actually, that came out wrong, I mean —"

"Shut up!" Ronnie took a deep breath. "Luna? Since you haven't been properly introduced — This is Peter Pettigrew, also known as Wormtail, also known as Scabbers,  _also_  known as a disgusting creep."

"How d'you do," said Luna politely, peeking out from behind Hagrid. " That's a lot of names."

"Didn't read the  _Daily Prophet_  yesterday, did you?" said Ronnie.

Luna shook her head. "Daddy says  _the Daily Prophet_  is full of lies to cover up conspiracies and scandals. They haven't even written so much as a word about the cover-up involving Arglebargle the Fourth —"

"Who? Never mind." Ronnie shook her head. "If you had read the  _Daily Prophet_  yesterday, you might've read some lies about this bloke. Like the lie about him being dead."

"You don't look dead," Luna told Wormtail. "Oh! Unless you have the Resurrection Stone?"

"He doesn't have the Resurrection Stone, he never died to begin with," said Harry, to whom the Resurrection Stone was a bit of a sore point after last year, when he'd mistakenly believed that said Stone was hidden at Hogwarts. He was, however, a lot calmer as he continued: "Stop me if this is wrong, Wormtail — eleven years ago, my parents went into hiding because a certain Dark Lord wanted them dead. They decided to hide their location with a Fidelius Charm, which meant that only one person, the Secret-Keeper, could reveal where they were. They told everyone that Sirius Black was the Secret-Keeper, and so when the charm was broken and my parents murdered, everyone knew that Sirius Black was the one who had sold them out."

"Yes, yes!" Wormtail nodded nervously. "Just as I said — Sirius, everyone thought he was a good person, nobody suspected him, but he'd actually been You-Know-Who's spy for over a year! When I heard Lily and James had died I knew what must have happened…" His voice grew a little stronger. "I've never been strong or skilled or brave, but I knew I couldn't let Sirius get away with it. I tracked him down, I tried to take him down myself… but he was much too strong for me. He knew all sorts of Dark magic, I didn't have a chance. I only survived by turning myself into a rat at the last moment, so that he'd believe he had killed me."

"Except," said Harry, "that's not what happened. Dumbledore figured it out when he found out you were alive. Sirius Black wasn't my parents' Secret-Keeper —  _you_  were!"

"No!" said Wormtail feebly. "Everybody knew it was Sirius! Ask anyone!"

"That was the ruse, wasn't it?" said Harry. "Everyone was supposed to  _think_  it was Sirius! But you switched Secret-Keepers, without telling anyone! That's why you faked your own death, wasn't it? Can't question a man who's dead! And if twelve Muggles happen to die at the same time, that just makes it more convincing…"

"No, no, no, that's not what happened!" Wormtail screeched. "I'm innocent, you have to believe me!"

 _"ARE YEH CALLIN' ALBUS DUMBLEDORE A LIAR?!"_ Hagrid roared, shaking him furiously.

"I'm just — No! No! I didn't mean it like that, Hagrid! Stop — stop shaking me!"

 _"I_ _ **MOURNED YER DEATH,**_ _YEH SNEAKY, GOOD-FER-NOTHIN' DEATH EATER!"_ Hagrid did not stop shaking him, not until Harry stepped up to place a hand on his hip (the only part of the man Harry could comfortably reach).

"Hagrid, he's not worth it." Harry's surprisingly quiet voice cut through the air and made Hagrid stop shaking Wormtail — who just let out a small groan as he went limp in Hagrid's grip.

For a moment it looked like the man had fainted, but then he made a soft whimper and opened his eyes again.

"I just want to know  _why,"_  said Harry, looking at him. "Why did you do  _any_  of it?"

For a moment, Ronnie thought Wormtail was going to start protesting again. But after a long moment's silence, he looked down. "I didn't  _want_  to do any of it. You don't know what it's like — I've seen you all. You're brave and noble and strong… you couldn't possibly know what it's like to be small and weak, in a world of big, strong people who could kill you as soon as look at you… I never wanted to hurt anyone, but I didn't want to die."

"Bollocks," Ronnie snorted. "If you'd cared who got hurt, you wouldn't have sold out Harry's parents! And you wouldn't have stolen bloody You-Know-Who's diary!"

"I… that wasn't my idea," said Wormtail. "It was Lockhart. It was all his plan…"

 _"What?!"_ Hagrid looked like he wanted to shake Wormtail again, but managed to control himself. "First yeh try ter blame Sirius, now it's  _Lockhart's_  fault?! That ruddy idiot couldn' plan a picnic!" His voice lowered to a growl as he effortlessly lifted Wormtail up so they were face-to-face. "Yeh better start tellin' the truth _, righ' now, or so help me, I'll —!"_

"Okay! I'll talk! I'll talk!" Wormtail screamed. "Just don't hurt me!"

Hagrid flung him down to the ground, where he ended up half-sitting, half-lying, breathing heavily. For a moment, he looked like he was going to try running, but apparently thought better of it when he saw that both Harry and Ronnie pulled out their wands and pointed them at him

"Talk!" Hagrid snarled.

"Yes, yes…" Wormtail cast nervous glances at them all, flinching when Crookshanks hissed at him. "I've never been strong, and that's the truth. Really… it really  _was_  Sirius's fault, back then. I didn't —  _he_  was the one who suggested that I'd be James and Lily's Secret-Keeper."

"He was?!" said Harry. "But —"

"He'd worked it all out," said Wormtail. "Tell everyone that  _he_  was James and Lily's Secret-Keeper, so that the Death Eaters would target him, while I, the real Secret-Keeper could go into hiding. I was the least likely person, nobody would expect it was me… 'Everyone thinks you're just a pathetic weakling,' he said. 'Here's your chance to prove everyone wrong.' I couldn't refuse, it would have looked too suspicious…"

"Because  _you_  were the spy!" said Hagrid. "We all  _knew_  there was one in the Order!"

"I hated doing it," said Wormtail miserably. "I hated myself for being so weak, for spying on my friends, but I didn't have a choice… You-Know-Who would have killed me! I tried using my rat form to spy on the Death Eaters as well, thinking that — well, maybe I could send some anonymous tips, sort of make up for what I was forced to do…"

"We didn' see a lotta  _that,_  far as I remember!" Hagrid growled.

"Couldn't find out much," Wormtail admitted. "That made it worse… and then Sirius had the idea about the Secret-Keeper, and then I didn't have a choice! I was too deep in it, You-Know-Who wouldn't only have killed me, he'd have tortured me… I'm not strong, I can't take it! I  _tried_  not to betray Lily and James —"

"Didn't try very hard, did you?" said Ronnie.

"Harder than you could imagine," Wormtail insisted, "but it was no use. But it did work out, didn't it?! You-Know-Who vanished and the war was over! That wouldn't have happened if he hadn't gone to kill Lily and James! He'd never have met Harry, and —"

"Are yeh tryin' ter take credit for endin' the war?!" Hagrid snapped.

"No, no!" Wormtail squeaked. "I was just saying… never mind, never mind!" He took a deep breath. "After You-Know-Who vanished… I went mad for a bit. I admit it. All I could think was that both sides were going to come after me… I was mad with terror. It's almost like I was acting in a dream… I went to find Sirius. Of course he was looking for me; he was the only one who knew I was the Secret-Keeper, and he was angry. It was like I saw the solution… fake my own death, and nobody would know… nobody would believe Sirius, he'd made certain everyone thought he'd been the Secret-Keeper…"

There was a long silence. Hagrid was fuming silently. Ronnie, Harry and Luna were staring at Wormtail, with Crookshanks looking upon with clear disdain for the man. Even Fang was observing the scene from his place in the corner, even it it was anyone's guess how much he understood of it.

"I couldn't go back to live as a man after that," said Wormtail. "Not after what I had done. It would have been easy to go abroad, get a new identity and live as a different person… but I didn't deserve that. I only deserved to live as a rat. A lowly rodent. I fended for myself in the wilderness for a few weeks… then I happened to come across a young boy named Percy Weasley. He was upset because his four brothers and two sisters were taking up all his parents' attention… I figured, I hadn't been much good as a man, but perhaps I could do some good as a rat… I became his pet, his confidante…. He was very happy that an animal had chosen him for once, and not Charlie or Ronnie."

"And so you stayed with us for eleven years!" Ronnie wasn't able to keep the disgust out of her voice.

"I promise, I never did anything that a normal pet rat wouldn't have!" Wormtail squeaked. "I was a good pet… I would have stayed a rat until I died, but… but then you got that  _cat."_

"Mrrrrow!" said Crookshanks proudly.

"He knew at once I wasn't a real rat… and I knew I couldn't stay in the same house at him. And then came the commotion at  _Flourish & Blotts._ I was in Ginny's pocket at the time… I heard Lucius Malfoy's voice. And when he came close… that' then I felt it. Rats have really sharp instincts, you know… I could sense that he had something evil with him. Something familiarly evil…" He took a deep breath. "I told you I tried to spy on the Death Eaters in rat form… well, I didn't fid out much, but I knew that feeling… a small book that used to belong to You-Know-Who. I didn't know what it was, but it — it  _reeked_  of evil. You don't forget something like that. And now Lucius Malfoy had it!"

"That was why you ran away?" Ronnie exclaimed. "You knew he was giving me the diary, and you —"

"I panicked!" Wormtail wailed. "I didn't know what he was going to do, but it couldn't be anything good! The cat was bad enough, but that book… I just had to get  _away!"_

"But if you just wanted to get away from the book, why did you steal it?" Ronnie demanded. "Crookshanks saw you! You were the one who put a sleep spell on us at the Hogwarts Express so you could steal the diary from me!"

"Well… that's where Gilderoy Lockhart comes in," Wormtail sighed. "I… he found me in the backroom of  _Flourish & Blotts,_ and he knew that I belonged to the Weasleys… he was right there when I escaped, after all! He'd seen me in Ginny's pocket! He's not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he  _notices_  things! He was all set to send me back to the Burrow… I had to take on human form to convince him not to!"

"Was that when you infected him with Wrackspurts?" Luna, who had been silent all through Wormtail's story, suddenly piped up.

Wormtail blinked. "Was that when I did  _what?!"_

"Hey, that's right!" Ronnie exclaimed. "You had  _Lockhart_  under the Imperius too, didn't you? That was you!"

"Knew he couldn' be such an idiot on 'is own," Hagrid grumbled.

"I — no!" said Wormtail hurriedly. "It wasn't like that! Lockhart was in on it from the start! You know he's a complete fraud, right? All those books he wrote about those heroic deeds — pure bluff! He never did any of it! But, well, when he heard about the evil book, he insisted I get it for him… I think he wanted credit for finding and destroying it! He didn't even  _know_  what he was up against…"

Ronnie couldn't help but feel a slight sense of vindication. Lockhart  _had_  been up to no good from the start. Maybe this information would finally make Hermione and the other girls stop swooning over him.

"The diary… it didn't want to be delivered to Dumbledore," Wormtail continued. "It was really angry with Lockhart for some reason… accused him of stealing it. Said that Draco Malfoy had told it as much…"

"Bugger," Ronnie muttered, biting her lip.

"So the  _diary_  put Lockhart under the Imperius?" said Harry, sounding dubious.

"Yes!" Wormtail said hurriedly. "That was exactly what happened! That diary had all sorts of Dark magic on it… It was stronger than both Lockhart and me together, there was nothing I could do… It was… it was horrible. You-Know-Who… He made us both do things… I tried all I could to resist, but… I'm weak…"

"And you wasted no time in telling him what a great friend and loyal servant you were," said Harry. "You even delivered him the perfect victims to drain the life-force out of: My Aunt and Uncle!"

"Y-you don't understand… he was going to do it to  _someone_ , no matter what. Lockhart was too high-profile, people would notice, and I was — I-I wasn't a good choice. You-Know-Who wanted me to kidnap some student or a villager from Hogsmeade, but I couldn't, I just couldn't do that to someone innocent. But I'd heard about how awful the Dursleys were to you… if You-Know-Who was going to drain someone's life anyway, why not those two? They were bad people! Better them than some innocent student or villager… Besides," he added. "They were Muggles and never quite got the hang of Parseltongue, so You-Know-Who couldn't use the basilisk as he wanted… he wanted to set it on Muggle-borns, start a killing spree, but that didn't happen."

"It got Lavender!" said Harry. "And she's not even a Muggle-born!"

"It was an accident, she was at the wrong place at the wrong time… but she didn't die, did she? She can be revived! The ghosts can as well, we just needed —  _he_  just needed them out of the way for a while. Even Lockhart isn't dead! Even after he started fighting the Imperius and had to be dealt with! I — I was the one who said the basilisk should attack him in his office, I was hoping that the mirrors would mean he only got Petrified. I really, really didn't want anyone to die!"

"A real friend to humanity, aren't you, Wormtail?" said Ronnie.

"Well, I —" Wormtail must have caught the sarcasm in her voice, because he averted his eyes. "I tried. I really did. I was in a horrible situation, everyone was forcing me to do things I didn't want to do, the only thing I could do was try to make sure people didn't die…"

"What about the twelve Muggles?" said Harry.

"Wh-what?" Wormtail looked up again.

"The twelve Muggles you killed when faking your own death," said Harry.

Wormtail swallowed. "They were just Muggles…" he murmured.

There was another long pause.

"You know, for a while there I was actually starting to feel  _sorry_  for you," Harry finally said.

"Right!" said Hagrid. "I think that's enough o' that!" Without any further ado, he picked up the yelping Wormtail and hauled him over his shoulder, as easily as if he'd been a sack of feathers. "We're takin' this piece o' trash ter Dumbledore! Better come along, you three."

"Meow!"

"You  _four._  Sorry."

"Should I come too?" said Luna, looking from one to the other with an uncertain expression on her face. "I don't really know the Headmaster. We've never talked, apart from that one time at the Sorting."

Ronnie placed a hand on her shoulder. "C'mon," she said. "You don't want to miss the chance to tell him how you caught a murderer, do you? It'll be fine."

Luna looked at her and nodded. "If you think I should, Ronnie," she said.

"Yes, I  —" Ronnie cut herself off with a surprised gasp. "You called me _Ronnie!"_

"Yes, I did."

"I've asked you to call me Ronnie loads of times before, but you never would!"

"I hadn't earned it then." Luna smiled brilliantly. "Now I think I have." 

Ronnie felt a warm feeling spread from her chest. Weird… she had never noticed just how  _pretty_  Luna looked when she smiled…

Then she blinked and shook her head. Where had  _that_  come from?

"Are you coming?" Harry was already by the door so he could open it for Hagrid, even as Crookshanks padded over to him with his bottle-brush tail held high.

"Er — yes!" said Ronnie, pulling herself together. "Let's go!"

 

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED…**

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, you probably already guessed that Wormtail wasn't being completely honest in his confession. While the story was correct in broad strokes, he did — when finding that denying his guilt wasn't getting him anywhere — try to play on everyone's sympathy by presenting himself as having nobler motivations, and being more of a blameless victim of circumstance, than was really the case.
> 
> As I told you, this was the last "real" chapter, but there'll be two epilogues to this particular story, as there are still a couple of things that need to be addressed before we move in to the third and final novel of the Weasley Girl trilogy: War of the Prophecy.
> 
> The good news is that I have both epilogues half-finished already (the second epilogue will be the first chapter in this series to be from the POV of someone other than Harry or Ronnie) so my initial goal of finishing this story within 2017 looks like it's going to happen despite the massive schedule slip.
> 
> I also have planned at least two more, shorter, stories from the Weasley Girl universe.
> 
> One will be a one-shot short story called "Moaning Myrtle's Party," which will describe the party that Ronnie promised to throw Moaning Myrtle.
> 
> The other one… is a secret for now, but it's something I've been wanting to do for a while. Can't tell you how long that'll be yet, but I'm thinking it'll probably be about novella-length. Five or six chapters, maybe.
> 
> Final note for now: Gabriel Truman was the Prefect that held the "welcome to Hufflepuff" speech at the old Pottermore site — yep, I'm a Hufflepuff on Pottermore! My initial reaction to the "no outsiders have ever seen the Hufflepuff common room" bit was pretty much like Luna's, so there's a good reason why you shouldn't hire me as a security consultant.


	21. Epilogue 1 - A Muggle's Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm uploading this on my birthday!
> 
> Wow, I got some flack for having Ronnie think that Luna was pretty in that last chapter. Not here on AO3, interestingly enough, but on FF.Net, I had at least two readers declaring that the story was ruined because of it. I don't take back what I wrote, because that moment was a very important one for Ronnie as a character…
> 
> …but if any of you were worried that this was going to shift gear and turn into a Ronnie/Luna romance story, I can tell you right now that I'm not actually planning on that. I've said earlier that romance isn't going to be a big focus of this series, and that hasn't changed.
> 
> I'll go a little into more detail in the author's notes at the end.

 

 

Muggle funerals weren't too different from wizard funerals, really. A solemn ceremony, speeches about the dearly departed, grieving people in black, the carrying of the coffin to the grave, the works — and then a wake afterwards, in which family and friends gathered to remember the dearly departed.

Of course, the wake for Uncle Bilius, a few years ago, had been at the Burrow, not at a fancy Muggle hotel like the one they were going to… and, of course, Uncle Bilius's funeral and wake had been a lot more, well,  _attended_. Uncle Bilius had been a popular man, even if he'd gone a little odd towards the end, and at the funeral family and friends had queued up to say nice things about him.

For Petunia Dursley, though? It turned out that there were only a handful of Muggle guests, in addition to Harry, Ronnie, Ginny and Mum.

Ronnie had insisted on coming along to the funeral with Harry, of course. She'd felt she owed it to the woman she'd seen die, no matter if she hadn't liked her in life. Ginny hadn't been far behind, wanting to be there for Harry — and of course Mum wasn't about to let the three go off to a funeral unaccompanied by an adult.

So all four of them had shown up, wearing the most Muggle-looking black clothes that Mum had been able to Transfigure.

Vernon Dursley had not been able to attend the funeral. He was still in the Janus Thickey ward at St. Mungo's, and would likely stay there for some time — but Dudley was there. It was the first time Ronnie had seen the large boy since Summer, but Harry had seen him the day before the funeral, when Dad had taken them both to St. Mungo's to see Vernon.

According to Harry, seeing Dudley had started to bring out more lucid moments in Vernon, and the staff were planning to arrange for weekly visits. While it was rare for Muggle next-of-kin to be allowed at St. Mungo's, apparently in certain special circumstances a Muggle might be granted special visiting privileges, as long as it didn't disrupt the Statute of Secrecy. Since Dudley already knew about the wizarding world, and the Healers at St. Mungo's didn't seem too concerned that he and Uncle Vernon were the supposed "evil Muggle Relatives of Harry Potter," he had been granted those privileges. Just how they were planning on keeping this up while he was off at his own boarding school, Ronnie had no idea… but they probably had some way of arranging it.

Accompanying Dudley to the funeral was a large, purple-faced woman whom Harry had pointed out as "Aunt Marge, Uncle Vernon's sister."

Harry hadn't seemed very keen on meeting the woman (and it was hard to blame him, really; she didn't look like a very pleasant person), and so by hiding in the middle of the crowd had managed to avoid her.

Dudley had spotted them, but hadn't said anything. He'd just given Ronnie and Ginny a look that better than words said that he recognised them from last Summer, but he'd had left it at that. He'd spent the rest of the funeral ignoring them, openly sobbing throughout.

He was the only one there who looked to be genuinely grieving; the rest of the small crowd consisted exclusively of stone-faced and stiffly-dressed Muggles, who just seemed to look disapproving of the entire thing — and especially disapproving of the hastily-Transfigured black Muggle clothes that the Weasleys were wearing, which did not exactly match the fancy Muggle clothes.

Clearly Petunia did not have a big family… or, when it came down to it, many friends. Even if the ones she  _did_  have were undeniably posh, they did not seem to be particularly friendly. Even the infamous Aunt Marge looked annoyed more than anything.

There was something very sad about this. Petunia Dursley was dead, and the number of people who cared was depressingly small.

If they'd known how few people would show up, Ronnie thought, she might have insisted on the rest of her family coming as well, and why not the entire Potter's Gang. She was certain that if she'd mentioned this to professor Dumbledore, he would have let Hermione, Neville and even Colin start their Christmas holidays a little earlier as well.

"Well," said Mum as they began moving away from the small group of mourners, "that was that. How are you holding up, Harry dear?"

"Fine, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry. "Thank you." He'd been very quiet during the entire thing; he hadn't cried at all, just sat there with a solemn look on his face. "It's Dudley and Uncle Vernon I feel bad for."

"We'll have to at least show our faces at the wake," said Mum, "but we don't have to stay for long. Tell us when you want to leave, Harry."

"I will." Harry nodded.

"Now," said Mum, "Where exactly is this hotel we're supposed to have the wake at?"

"I'm not sure," Harry admitted. "I've only been in this town once, and we stayed at a different hotel then. I didn't even know this was the town Aunt Petunia grew up in, or that her parents were buried here."

"You never visited your grandparents' graves?" said Ginny, sounding a little surprised.

"They died before I was even born," said Harry. "And the Dursleys never liked gravesites. I don't think I'm too fond of them myself, really," he added in a softer tone.

As the others tried to figure out the streets of the town of Cokeworth, Ronnie turned to look back at the small number of other funeral attendants, some of whom looked even less pleased with their surroundings than they had with the funeral.

Most of them probably came from Little Whinging, Ronnie decided, less likely than Harry and Mum to know (or even want to know) where anything in this town was located.

Little Whinging had been boring and uninspired, but rather posh — the houses might be identical and in frustratingly-neat rows, but they were large and well-maintained, with large gardens and two cars in most driveways. Cokeworth, by contrast, seemed to be the epitome of 'shabby.' At least from what Ronnie had seen of it, it was mostly grey stone, with small brick houses in various states of disrepair, narrow cobbled streets, big factory pipes and a dirty-looking river with littered, icy banks.

Strange that someone like Petunia Dursley would have wanted to be buried in a place like this.

Ronnie was just trying to remember the name of the hotel they were supposed to be heading for, and pondering whether any of these Muggles would be helpful if she asked them, when she suddenly saw something completely unexpected.

"Bloody hell!" she yelped.

"Language, Veronica," Mum admonished automatically.

"Sorry, Mum, but — what's  _Snape_  doing here?!"

And true enough — Snape it was, right here in this shabby Muggle town, standing at a distance from the Muggle mourners. He was even dressed shabbily, as if to match his surroundings; instead of the old black robes that had been his trademark as the Potions master at Hogwarts, he was wearing a black Muggle suit that looked like it had been bought in a second-hand shop and then been left in the back of a wardrobe for ten years.

He seemed to have heard Ronnie; at least when he turned to look at her, it was with a bemused expression.

"This is a  _funeral_ , Weasley," he said as a means of greeting, while walking up a little closer. "If you haven't yet worked out why people attend funerals, then you are an even bigger dunderhead than I thought."

 _"Excuse_  me!" Mum was suddenly right in front of him. "I will  _thank_  you not to speak to my daughter in that way!"

Snape looked at her with something akin to surprise. This was probably the first time he and Mum ever met, Ronnie suddenly realised. They had never been at Hogwarts at the same time — well, unless you counted last Christmas, when Snape had at least been on Hogwarts grounds at the same time as Mum, but that didn't count. Mum only knew Snape from the stories her brothers had told over the years, and it was easy enough to see that she was not very inclined to be friendly.

Then again, Snape would not have been Snape if he let himself be intimidated that easily. "Mrs. Weasley, I presume," he said, without changing his tone of voice. "If this is your daughter… and, indeed, if the newspapers are correct and you are currently caring for Potter… then you have my deepest sympathy. Those two together would try the patience of a saint."

"Oy!" Ronnie snapped, but shut herself up as Mum placed a hand on her shoulder.

 _"Mister_  Snape," Mum said coldly. "If this hadn't been a funeral, and hardly the time and place for such discussions, I would have been  _more_  than happy to talk to you about people who could  _try the patience of a saint._  If you can't have respect for the living, at least have some respect for the dead!"

He glared at her. "Respect for the dead," he spat, "is the only reason I'm even here. Don't let me trespass on your time." With that, her turned to walk away.

"Professor Snape?" said Harry. He'd seemed just as surprised as Ronnie at the presence of their least favourite teacher, but curiosity was clearly overriding his dislike.

Snape stopped and turned back to look at him. "Don't insult us both by pretending you've forgotten I'm not your teacher anymore, Potter," he sneered.

"Sorry, but —" Harry drew a sharp breath. "You knew my Aunt Petunia?"

Snape didn't soften, because he never did. Nevertheless, there was perhaps a slightly smaller amount of malice in his eyes than usual as he answered. "I had the…  _pleasure…_  of her acquaintance when we were young. Surprised, Potter? We both grew up in this very town, after all."

"You must have  _loved_ each other," said Ronnie, unable to quite keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

Snape scoffed. "You can spare me your comments, Weasley. Given your mother's speech about respect for the dead, I will not sully Petunia Dursley's memory by pretending she was anything but a small-minded, intolerant and nasty woman. Still…" For a very brief moment there was something wistful in his black eyes, an emotion that Ronnie had never seen from Snape before. "She was all that was left of… that time. And for that reason, at least, I'm sorry to see her go."

"But —" Harry looked at him. "If you knew Aunt Petunia, you must've known my Mum too, even before you went to Hogwarts! Did you —?"

Snape's expression made the air seem even chillier than it already was. He took a few steps to the side and motioned behind him. "Rather than trying to interrogate me, Potter, you should be concentrating on the man that murdered both your Aunt and your mother. He's not going to rest until he has  _you_  as well."

"Tom Riddle," said Harry. "I mean — Voldemort."

Snape hissed. "Don't speak his name, you fool!  _Especially_  not now that he's returning! Or if you  _insist_  on acting like an idiot and disregarding everything wiser people tell you, at least don't speak his name until I've had a chance to put a few miles between the two of us."

"So  _you_  believe that he's returning!" said Ginny, blinking.

Snape looked at her. He didn't seem very impressed. "Unlike the imbeciles at the  _Daily Prophet,_  I am in fact capable of rational thought. Of  _course_  the Dark Lord returning. I've already had a long talk with Dumbledore about it — more's the pity for the both of us, Potter."

Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that I fear we'll soon be forced to endure each other's company again." Snape motioned down the road. "Until then, I suggest you start paying attention to your relatives. I believe that's them coming to greet you."

A brief look of panic flashed over Harry's face, followed by a deep resignation, as he saw the purple-faced "Aunt Marge" come marching up towards them, a somewhat miserable-looking Dudley in tow. "Boy!" she called, as if talking to a disobedient dog. "I want a word with you!"

"Good luck, Potter." With a nasty smirk, Snape turned his back on them all and walked away, just as Dudley and Aunt Marge came closer.

"Hello, Aunt Marge," Harry began, clearly wanting to be anywhere but there at the moment. "Well, er —"

"Wouldn't have thought you'd have the nerve to show yourself at Petunia's funeral," Marge barked. "Not after what you've done."

"After what I've done?" Harry repeated.

"How do you do," said Mum, stepping up to greet Marge. She seemed slightly less inclined to be snappish with Marge than she had been with Snape; perhaps she felt that a woman whose sister-in-law had just died and brother hospitalised deserved a bit more lenience than a sour-faced former Potions master. "I'm Molly Weasley. Harry is staying with my family for the moment."

Marge looked at her. Like many of the other Muggles present at the funeral, she did not seem to be very impressed with Mum's hastily-transfigured Muggle clothes. "Taken the boy in, have you?" she said. She had a very loud voice, constantly verging on a shout. "Take my advice. Send him off to the nearest orphanage. It's what my poor brother and sister-in-law  _should_  have done after he was left on their doorstep. Or better yet — march him down to the police station and have them lock him up and throw away the key."

Mum gaped. "I shall do no such thing!" she declared. "What on Earth are you on about? Sending a twelve-year-old boy to prison!"

"Juvenile hall, then," said Marge. "Believe me, it would rid society of a menace."

"Aunt Marge," said Dudley nervously. "I really don't think —"

"Don't worry, Dudley." Without taking her eyes of the gathered crowd, Marge gave him a one-armed hug. "I won't let that nasty cousin of yours do anything to you." She glared at Harry. "Don't think I haven't seen through your little game, boy."

"What game?" Harry blinked in honest confusion.

"Playing innocent won't help," Marge snarled. "Vernon and Petunia finally come to their senses and throw you out on your ungrateful ear. Two months later, they both go missing. And now, Petunia's dead and Vernon's in the hospital. Not only that, but no-one will tell me  _which_  hospital! All Dudley could say was that it was somewhere in London, and those nurses that came to collect him — raving mad, the both of them! Blathering on about how I wasn't cleared for visits! Me, Vernon's own sister! Don't know  _what_  came over me, letting Dudley go off with them alone…"

Dudley winced. Ronnie suspected that the nurses had probably Confounded Marge or something to keep her from asking questions.

"I'm not blaming you, Dudley, of course I'm not," said Marge, who seemed to have misunderstood why her nephew was wincing. "But one thing's for certain!" And here she glared at Harry. "I distinctly heard them mention  _your_  name! Don't think I can't put two and two together."

It felt like an icy hand grabbed around Ronnie's heart. Was this woman really standing there and accusing Harry —  _their_  Harry — of…?

Now, Ginny couldn't take it anymore. "What the  _hell_  are you accusing Harry of?!" she demanded, stepping up towards Marge.

"Ginny," said Mum, though the warning tone in her voice wasn't as strong as normal. Her reserves of goodwill towards grieving aunts was apparently emptying fast.

"I have known this boy since he was a year old," said Marge, talking to Mum again, "and he has always been a hooligan. I thought perhaps the institution he was sent to would manage to beat some gratitude and common decency into him, but apparently not!"

"Institution?" Now Mum was gaping.

"Yes. It had such a promising-sounding name — St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys. A name with  _discipline,_  I thought. But apparently discipline isn't enough for  _some_  delinquents!"

Harry had gone red. He was clenching his fists and glaring at Marge through his glasses.

"I'm just saying, you should carefully reconsider having this boy in your house," said Marge with a mix of anger and glee. "Just look at that expression. That's the face of an incurable criminal! Before you know it, he'll have murdered you all in your beds!"

Something snapped inside Ronnie.  _"SHUT UP!"_ she roared and lunged for Marge — only to find herself yanked back and halted in her track. Mum had grabbed her and was holding her back with a firm grip.

Marge turned to look at her, eyes widening. "I say!"

 _"WHAT THE FUCKING HELL IS_ _ **WRONG**_ _WITH YOU DAMN STUPID FUCKING DURSLEYS?!"_ Ronnie screamed, struggling against her mother's grip.  _"IS THERE A SINGLE FUCKING MEMBER OF YOUR FAMILY THAT ISN'T A TOTAL MORON — TOTAL_ _ **ARSEHOLE?!"**_

"Veronica Weasley, that's  _enough!"_  Mum barked. "We are leaving right — oh,  _no!"_

That last part drowned in a scream from Marge, and one from Dudley. Marge's coat had suddenly burst into flame.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"D'you suppose it was my accidental magic or yours?" said Ronnie.

"I don't know," said Harry. "But I can't bring myself to feel too sorry for Aunt Marge."

"Me neither. I can't believe she thought  _you'd_  killed your Aunt!"

"I can," said Harry gravely. "She's always hated me, even worse than Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia did. Even worse than  _Snape."_

 _"That_  bad?!"

"Worse."

They were back at the Burrow, in Harry's room, a few hours after the commotion at the funeral. Harry was sitting on his bed, with Hedwig perched and half-asleep on the bedpost, while Ronnie sat by the desk with a purring Crookshanks on her lap.

The unfortunate incident of the igniting coat had been taken care of swiftly enough — luckily, Mum had managed to put the fire out before any bystanders had seen too closely what was going on, and a hasty Confundus charm had ensured that when concerned funeral guests and other passer-by Muggles came running, Marge had forgotten about her flaming coat and could only give feeble answers as to why she had been screaming. Most of the Muggles seemed to think that it was some sort of delayed grief, so that had been that.

Still, Mum had decided that it would be more prudent not to show their faces at the wake anyway, and instead return back home to the Burrow.

Ronnie had of course received a stern lecture from Mum about losing her temper like that, especially in public, but like Harry, Ronnie couldn't find it in her heart to feel sorry for Marge Dursley. It annoyed her much more that the woman had interrupted what looked like it might have been the first time ever that she might have wanted to hear what Severus Snape had to say.

"Speaking of Snape," she said, looking at Harry. "Weird running into him, wasn't it?"

He nodded. "I'm still astonished he knew my Aunt Petunia. I suppose… I suppose I already knew he must've known my Mum. He knew my Dad, after all, and they were in the same year. I just never knew they grew up in the same town."

"What d'you think he meant by having to endure your company?"

"I don't know." He paused and then grimaced. "You don't think he's returning to Hogwarts, do you?"

"God, I hope not. I've actually started  _enjoying_  Potions since Professor Flamel took over." Ronnie sighed and leaned back in her chair, scratching Crookshanks's neck. "So many weird surprises and secrets lately… wonder what the next one'll be?"

"No idea," said Harry. "By the way…"

"Mm?"

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was a Parselmouth."

She blinked. Of all the things she'd expected him to say at this point, that was pretty far down on the list. "What?"

"I wanted to tell you," said Harry. "I was  _going_ to tell you, in fact. The day when I first showed you that picture of the Marauders. Remember? I said I had two things to tell you. Well, that was the other thing."

"Oh." Ronnie had plain forgotten about that.

"But then we got side-tracked with that entire trip to Hagrid's, and so I didn't. I should have told you before, it was just —"

"It's  _okay!"_  she interrupted him. "I don't care! I get why you'd want to keep it a secret, with what that stupid book said, but I know you, I know you're not Dark…" She paused. "You know I wouldn't actually think you were, right?"

"Of course I know!" That came a little too quickly to be completely true.

Ronnie looked at him. And made up her mind. She took a deep breath and said hurriedly: "My middle name is Muriel!"

That made him look at her. His eyes widened in surprise behind his glasses. "What?" he said, in almost the exact same tone she'd used just moments before.

"I know. Ghastly, isn't it? I'm named for my Great Auntie Muriel. Mum and Dad were  _going_  to name me  _'Ginevra Molly.'_  That was the name they'd picked out for their first daughter. But apparently Auntie Muriel got into a snit because nobody was naming their children after her. After a bit of arguing, and since nobody wanted to burden a poor baby girl with the names  _'Muriel Molly'_  or  _'Ginevra Muriel'_  I became  _'Veronica Muriel'_  instead."

"Er — okay."

"There," she smiled. "Now you know a secret I've been keeping from you. And if you ever tell anyone what my middle name is, I'll kick you right in the balls."

For a moment, he looked at her as if she'd grown a second head or something — but then, thankfully, he laughed. "All right. I suppose we're even then."

"Damn straight we are."

"So Ginny's real name is  _'Ginevra Molly,'_  then?"

"Yeah, but don't call her that. She hates it almost as much as I hate  _'Muriel.'"_  She paused again. "She still fancies you, you know."

Harry sighed. "I know. She is a lot easier to get along with now that she actually talks to me instead of squeaking, but…"

"But?"

"She's your little sister."

Ronnie blinked. "Harry, you're not trying to say —"

"No, no, I didn't mean it like that! I don't fancy you!" Harry held up his hands. "You're my best friend, but I don't like you in  _that_  way! It's just, well, you're  _you_ , and… she's your little sister," he repeated, somewhat lamely.

"Oh." Ronnie felt herself turn pink. "Well… good then. I don't fancy you either. You're a great guy and all, but… no, I don't think you're my type."

"Glad we got that sorted out!"

"Absolutely!"

There was a slightly awkward pause. What she'd said was true; she did love Harry very much — but not, as he had said, in  _that_  way. Maybe the thought had struck her once or twice, but… well… He really  _wasn't_  her type. Her mind once again returned to that brief, confusing moment from a few days ago, back in Hagrid's hut, the one that kept coming back to her… the moment that…

 _The moment that didn't mean anything_ , she mentally scolded herself. It was just silly to think otherwise. She'd  _briefly_  thought  _one_  girl was pretty. That didn't mean she was…! After all, Luna had just provided the key to catching Wormtail and bringing him to justice, of course Ronnie's thoughts about the girl would be more positive. It was stupid of her to think that it meant that she was — she didn't even want to think the word. Not that there was anything  _wrong_  with the word; she liked to think she was a broad-minded person, and there were many great and admirable people who were — it was just that  _she_  wasn't. At all.

Besides, it wasn't as if this was the time to speculate about her own sexuality. Not with everything  _else_  going on. She shifted and looked at Harry again.

"So… what do we do now?"

"About not fancying each other?" He blinked. "I don't think we  _need_  to do anything about that."

"Not about that, you arse! I mean — there's gonna be a new war, isn't there? Maybe not straight away, but it'll come. And  _we'll_  be right in the middle of it. Bloody hell, I don't even  _know_  any combat spells."

"Me neither," said Harry. "Not really. But it's all right for you, you don't have to — I mean, it's  _me_ Voldemort wants."

"So what?" she scoffed. "You don't think I'd let you go up against him alone, do you? Face it, Harry, you're  _stuck_  with me! And I bet Ginny, Hermione, Neville and even Colin are gonna say the exact same thing!"

Harry's cheeks turned a little red, and he looked away from her. He didn't say anything, but just like Crookshanks whenever you were under the  _Animaloqui,_  Harry's silences could speak volumes.

Ronnie carefully lifted Crookshanks off her lap, and went over to Harry's bed, where she sat down next to him and wrapped her arms around him. After a moment, he wrapped his arms around her and they remained in the hug for an entire minute.

Finally, he pulled back. "Thank you, Muriel," he said.

She laughed. "Prat."

 

 

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED…**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of Great Auntie Muriel and how Ronnie got her name is of course free to read here on this very site, and is called "The Leapling."
> 
> And now, for the controversial part of the story:
> 
> As I mentioned in the pre-chapter note, a few readers really did not like the ending of the last chapter, where Ronnie suddenly noticed how pretty Luna was. At least two reviewers insisted that the story was "ruined" because of this.
> 
> You're entitled to your opinion, of course, but… it wasn't as though I had them kiss or declare their eternal love or anything like that. All it was, was a brief moment where a girl in the early onset of puberty essentially looks at another girl and discovers that she might find her attractive. Nothing about what Luna thought about the entire thing.
> 
> Did it come out of nowhere? Ronnie certainly thought it did. But it's actually something that has been built up to for a while now. I have actually included a few small hints in the text, and even openly admitted it to it in PM to a few people:
> 
> Ronnie is in fact a lesbian.
> 
> I've known this about her since fairly early on. Not straight away, mind; when I first wrote the very first chapter of "Weasley Girl," I didn't know she was gay. Not even when I decided to continue the story and turn it into a series, did I know. It wasn't until a couple of chapters in, when I began planning out the overarching plotline, I started to suspect. See, I was plotting out the second year, or more specifically the Lockhart subplot. It's strange to think of it now, but I had originally planned on Ronnie crushing on Lockhart along with Hermione.
> 
> But then… well, I've touched on this before, and a lot of you will know what I'm talking about… but sometimes characters start writing themselves to the point where they almost live their own lives. And Ronnie told me in no uncertain terms that there was no way she was ever going to fall for someone like Lockhart, because she didn't like men at all.
> 
> From then on, I've written Ronnie with the knowledge that she was a lesbian. It just hasn't been openly acknowledged by the narrative before because Ronnie herself didn't know. But, if you read back, you might find a few hints that Ronnie isn't totally straight… certainly that she doesn't find boys attractive in the least. A lot of these hits could of course just be interpreted as "she's twelve, she just hasn't figured out what the big deal with boys is yet," but there was always something more to it than that. With this chapter, she's pretty much entered the denial phase. She's starting to work things out, but isn't quite ready to acknowledge that side of herself yet.
> 
> If this completely ruins the character and the story for you, or if you feel I've betrayed you by not making Ronnie's sexuality clear from the start, then I'm sorry about that.
> 
> Partly it was because I didn't know it myself at first. Partly it was because I wanted the readers to get to know Ronnie as a person before they got to know her as a lesbian. And partly it was because… it's really a very minor part of the story, and tagging the story "femmeslash" or "lesbian protagonist" tends to mean you create certain expectations with the readers; expectations that this story was never meant to fulfil.
> 
> There's one more epilogue left. It'll be the first chapter in this series where Ronnie does not appear, because the focus is going to be on several other characters, in set-up and preparation for the third story of the trilogy, "War of the Prophecy."
> 
> If I see you for the second epilogue and the rest of the series, then great! If not — well, thanks for following me so far, at least.


	22. Epilogue 2 - It Just Makes You Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All right, story, make a liar out of me. I know I said there would only be two epilogues to this story, but there will actually be three. There were three scenes that I just couldn't fit into this epilogue; one of them could quite easily be moved to the beginning of War of the Prophecy instead, but the other two needed to be in this story.
> 
> So, there'll be one extra epilogue, which is 95% written as we speak and should be posted sometime next week. I hope you're not too disappointed.
> 
> Oh, and while I have your attention… thanks for all the supportive reviews, everyone! I'm really grateful for your kind words concerning Ronnie's dawning self-realisation, and glad to know that so many of you decided to continue following the story.
> 
> With all that said, time for the penultimate epilogue!

 

Hermione pulled her Muggle coat a little tighter around herself as she along with Neville, Colin and Luna, stepped out of the pleasant warmth of the Hogwarts Express and into the chill of Platform Nine-And-Three-Quarters.

Students were pouring out of the train, with luggage and winter coats, ready to meet their families and start the Christmas holidays. Already the usual large and extremely unorganized queue was forming by the ticket barrier, where the wizened old guard was letting them out through the gate in small groups, so they wouldn't attract too much attention from the Muggles by showing up all at once.

Potter's Gang — minus Harry, Ronnie and Ginny, but plus Luna Lovegood who had opted to share their compartment for the journey — had to their relief had a perfectly uneventful train journey. 

"For some reason," said Neville, keeping his voice low, "I kept waiting for Malfoy to stop by our compartment and start threatening or mocking. I suppose we're not very fun targets when Harry and Ronnie aren't here."

"Either that, or he had other things on his mind," said Hermione. "Didn't you notice the letter he got at breakfast yesterday?"

"Er — no."

"Well, I did. Whatever it was, he has been looking rather sulky ever since."

They had just enough time to spot Malfoy in front of the queue, together with Crabbe and Goyle as usual, and looking extremely sour-faced, before the guard waved the three of them through the gate, and they vanished from sight.

"He did look pretty crabby," said Colin. "D'you think it has to do with his father? That meeting with the Headmaster and all?"

"I think it has to do with his socks," said Luna serenely. "I have a theory that wearing the wrong socks can affect your mood terribly. I've noticed that Ronnie tends to be extra chipper when she wears pink socks... Why are you looking at me like that?" she added, looking at Hermione.

Hermione opened her mouth to say something about how this was the biggest load of nonsense she had ever heard, but then — for once in her life — thought better of it. "Never mind."

Luna nodded. "Consider it never-minded."

They all joined the queue and waited patiently for their turn to pass through the gate and into the Muggle world, where their parents would be waiting for them. 

Hermione was both looking forward to seeing her parents again, and at the same time deeply dreading it. She had spent days trying to think of what to say to them.

She knew she couldn't keep the story of the basilisk or of Tom Riddle from them. Not because they had been so angry the last time they found out she'd been hiding the dangers of Hogwarts from them — Hermione was of the firm belief that parents did not need to know everything that their teenage children got up to — but because Tom Riddle could be dangerous to them. Everyone know how much Voldemort hated Muggles and Muggle-borns, and unfortunately both the current Voldemort and the sixteen-year-old version knew who she was and that her parents were Muggles.

Harry's Aunt and Uncle hadn't been safe; how safe would Hermione's parents be?

Keeping them ignorant was directly irresponsible. When it came to Voldemort, she had to agree with Mad-Eye Moody: _Ignorance is death._

The problem was that if she did tell her parents all this, they might decide to get _difficult_ and force her to leave Hogwarts. At the beginning of the year, she'd told Ronnie of the huge fight she'd had with them; how they thought Hogwarts did not sound like a safe place, and how she'd had to fight to convince them that last year's fight with Voldemort was the exception and not the rule… but really, it had been more than that.

It was something that the rest of Potter's Gang wouldn't understand, not really. Ronnie, Ginny and Neville, who had grown up in the wizarding world, certainly wouldn't get it. Even Harry, who had grown up in the Muggle world but hated his Muggle guardians, probably wouldn't. And as for Colin… wasn't certain about him, actually. He _was_ Muggle-born, but he was so… _young._ And he didn't seem to have any problems with his Muggle family.

The problem was that Hermione's parents had not liked the wizarding world very much. Oh, they were fine with _magic_ — it had been a relief to find out that all the strange things that had happened around Hermione when she was little had an explanation.  

What they hadn't liked was the _intolerance_. From the looks of contempt and patronising from even the politer wizards, to the sheer hatred and bile directed at them at Diagon Alley. Just because they were Muggles. That wizard who had yelled at them in Gringotts had only been the tip of the iceberg. Of course, they had accepted that not all wizards were like that, and Hermione's friends were good, people, but… there had been the unspoken question: _Are these wizards really a good influence on our daughter? Do we really want her to turn out like them — dismissing or even hating people just because they don't have magic?_

Add this to the fear that Hogwarts might actually be a dangerous place for Hermione to be, and you got a very deep reluctance to let her return there at all. A reluctance that it had taken Hermione ages of pleading and convincing and solemn promises that she would be careful, to get them to overcome.

At these times she wished she had a magical adult in her life that she could talk to. Someone who _understood_ , someone who could listen and give advice and maybe even be able to talk to her parents with the reassuring words that Hermione herself couldn't find.

It couldn't be Ronnie's parents, no matter how much Ronnie offered. Arthur and Molly Weasley were nice enough, but they really only knew the wizarding world, despite Arthur's interest in the Muggle one.

She had considered one of the teachers, but none of them really seemed to fit the bill. With the possible exception of Professor Dumbledore, who probably _would_ understand, and no doubt could find the right words… but she had barely seen him at all since the day of the basilisk. He was probably making preparations and gathering allies and friends to stop Tom Riddle, and that of course had to take priority.

No — she had to face the facts. There was no-one she could turn to. She'd have to deal with her parents herself.

Finally, it was their group's turn to step through the barrier. The guard waved them through, and Hermione walked out through the gate together with Neville, Colin and Luna. They came out by the barrier between platform Nine and Ten, and into the crowded Muggle part of King's Cross.

Hermione scanned the crowd for her parents. They'd be here somewhere, among all the other parents here to pick up their children and take them home for the holidays. Some of the faces were familiar; there was Neville's grandmother — Hermione had only met the woman once before, but she would recognise that hat anywhere — and that tall, blond man with the dotty appearance could only be here for Luna.

"Daddy!" Luna squealed in joy. She stormed up to the blond man and threw her arms around him.

"Oh, there's my Dad too! And Dennis!" Colin pointed. "Hi, Dad! Hi, Dennis!" He waved frantically at a man in a worn letter jacket and a little boy who was wearing a much-too-big coat, both of whom were hurrying towards him.

Neville was slightly less enthusiastic than Luna and Colin. "Hi, Gran," he said as she approached.

"Neville," Mrs. Longbottom nodded in greeting, looking at him with a critical eye. "You've lost weight. I hear you've been getting into some trouble this semester? Fighting a basilisk, was it?"

"Er." Neville swallowed nervously. "The thing is — I was just —"

"Good!" Mrs. Longbottom gave him a hearty pat on the back, which almost knocked him over. "Excellent, Neville! _Finally,_ you're starting to show some of that Longbottom spirit! Your father would be proud!"

"I — didn't really do a whole lot," Neville muttered, looking like he would rather be anywhere else.

"Of course you didn't," his grandmother said with a slight shake of her head. "But it's a _start_. You're coming into your own. These are your friends, I presume?"

"Yeah." Neville tried to smile. "Gran, this is Hermione, and Colin — oh, and Luna." (He indicated Luna, who was still hugging her father.)

"Pleasure to meet you," said Mrs. Longbottom. "Yes. Neville has told me all about you, of course — when he remembered to write, that is. He's a good boy, my Neville, but I _do_ wish he would remember to send a letter to his old Gran a little more often."

"Er…" Neville winched.

"Really, Xenophilius," Mrs. Longbottom said, turning towards Luna and her father, who were still hugging. "There is no need to create such a spectacle."

Luna's father, whose name was apparently Xenophilius, smiled pleasantly at her. "It's not every day you get to welcome home a girl who's caught a murderer!"

"All I did was capture a rat who wasn't a rat, Daddy," said Luna. "I didn't know he was a murderer."

"Never mind, love. Many of the world's biggest discoveries have been made by people who didn't know what they were about to discover." Xenophilius stroked her hair. "I hope you're willing to make a few statements for _The Quibbler_ about what happened?"

"Of course, Daddy!"

"That's my girl."

Hermione felt an unexpected pang of envy. Both Luna and Neville had guardians who _understood —_ who were _proud_ of them. Of course she loved her own parents and wouldn't want to swap them out for anything, but…

Her thoughts were interrupted by the little boy who had been jumping up and down beside Colin. "I'm Dennis!" he said. "Are you all witches? I've never seen a witch before! Is it fun being a witch? Colin says it's fun being a wizard! Hello, I'm Dennis! Where's Harry Potter? I wanted to meet Harry Potter!"

"Harry had to go to his Aunt's funeral," Colin explained. "I'll tell you all about him, though. He's really cool! Everyone's really cool! Hermione, here, she found out how to fight a basilisk!"

"That is so cool!" said Dennis in complete awe. "What's a basilisk?"

"It's a huge snake that's really poisonous," said Colin. "And if it looks directly at you, you _die!_ So we had to wear blindfolds, and that was Hermione's idea too —"

"You're the coolest person ever!" Dennis squeaked to Hermione. "Hello, I'm Dennis!  You must be really smart! I'm going to be a wizard too, aren't I, Colin? Is it true that wizards fly on broomsticks? In all the cartoons, only witches fly on broomsticks! Are wizards really witches?"

"Now, now, Dennis." The man who had to be their father placed a calm hand on the boy's shoulders. Unlike his sons, Mr. Creevey spoke slowly and calmly, as if he thought about each sentence before saying it. "This isn't the sort of thing we talk about in public. Remember the nice man from the school telling us about that?"

"Oh!" Dennis looked guilty. "I'm sorry, I forgot. It's just so cool though! Too bad Colin's camera was ruined! I really wanted to see the pictures! But you'll tell me everything, won't you Colin?"

Dennis, Hermione quickly decided, was like an extreme caricature of Colin somehow given life. He was even smaller, more eager, more talkative, and less capable of standing still. She wondered if he really _was_ a wizard — as far as she knew, it was rare for more than one wizard or witch to be born into a Muggle family (Petunia Dursley hadn't been a witch, and Dean Thomas apparently had a number of sisters back home who were Muggles), but it did happen on occasion.

"We should get going," said Mr. Creevey. "What do you say we find a place to have dinner, and then Colin can tell us all about his term."

"Hermione's parents aren't here yet, though," said Colin. "We can't just leave her alone here, Dad —"

 _"Hermione!"_ a voice called from further down — and there, right on cue and making her way through the crowd, was Hermione's mother.

Hermione let out a breath that she hadn't even been aware that she was holding. Seconds later, she found herself wrapped up in a tight embrace.

"Thank God you're all right," her mother said. "Your father and I have been so worried!"

"Mum, I'm — I'm fine," said Hermione. "I've just been to school, it's no big deal…"

"Just been to school!" Her mother held her out at arm's length. "Are you aware that we had a _reporter_ from the wizard newspaper visit us at home? Asking us whether we approved that you were fighting monsters at school?"

"I — what?" Hermione gasped. All the long speeches she had composed in her head and half-rejected all vanished from her mind. _Her parents already knew?!_

"We're going to have _serious_ talk about this when we come home, young lady!" Her mother's voice had turned from relieved to stern. "Your father and I already told you that if you got into any more danger at that school —"

"Excuse me." Xenophilius Lovegood, still with Luna clinging to him, looked at her. "Who was the reporter that came to see you?"

What? Er — Skeeter, I think she said her name was. Rita Skeeter." Hermione's mother looked at Xenophilius's purple overcoat with some disdain.

"Oh, the _Daily Prophet,"_ said Xenophilius dismissively. "My dear madam, you mustn't listen to anything _they_ say. That newspaper only prints lies, cover-up stories, and sensationalist rubbish designed to distract its readers away from the truth."

"For once, Xeno, you're absolutely right," said Mrs. Longbottom. "I had that Rita Skeeter at my home the other day, snooping around for gossip stories about my Neville and Potter's Gang. Tired of always being thrown out on her ear by the Weasleys, I presume. Trying different targets."

"Oh? What did you tell her?" Xenophilius looked at her with interest.

"I told her to get lost unless she wanted me to fuse those silly glasses of hers permanently to her face, of course!" said Mrs. Longbottom, and turned back to Hermione's mother. "Mrs. Granger, I presume. I'm Augusta Longbottom. My grandson is in your daughter's year, and he's had nothing but good things to say about her. Isn't that right, Neville?"

"What? Yes!" Neville said. "Hermione's absolutely brilliant!"

"She really is," Colin shot in, giving Hermione a winning smile. "I'm Colin — Colin Creevey."

"And I'm Dennis!" said Dennis, who seemed to think that no introduction round would be complete unless it included him.

"Hermione's _ace_ ," Colin continued. "She's the smartest person I've met!"

Luna, who had untangled herself from her father, looked up at Hermione's mother with dreamy eyes. "I just had a very nice conversation with your daughter about socks," she offered.

"Er — what do socks have to do with anything?" said Neville.

"Socks are important," said Luna. "Obviously you can't talk to just _anybody_ about socks. Aren't we saying nice things about Hermione so that her mother will understand that people like her?"

Hermione's mother looked at Luna. Then she looked at Neville, Colin, and even Dennis. And a small hope blossomed inside Hermione again. Of course — the one thing that had tipped the scale and made her parents agree to send her back to Hogwarts: The fact that she was, for the first time in her life, she was making friends.

She hadn't had any friends before Hogwarts. She had been the darling of her schoolteachers with her exemplary behaviour and top marks, but the other children had _not_ been impressed. She knew her parents were worried that she didn't get along with her peers, but other children were so… stupid and mean. Two years ago, you wouldn't have found even one child around Hermione's age who would be willing to say something nice about her.

But at Hogwarts, it was different. Over the last one-and-a-half year, she'd got Ronnie, and Harry and Neville. And then Ginny, and Colin, and Ronnie's brothers. People she enjoyed spending time with, people she wrote letters to over the Summer and even got replies from.   

And now, seeing some of those friends singing Hermione's praises — even if one of them was doing so in a very weird way — her mother was softening a little.

"You won't take Hermione away, will you?" said Luna. "Everyone would be very sad if she wasn't going to come back to Hogwarts. I think Hermione would be the most sad of all."

"I —" Hermione's mother looked at the girl, then at Hermione. "I'm very glad you're making friends, Hermione. And your father and I don't want to take you away from them. But we just… we _have_ to think about what's best for you, and I'm not certain —"

"Excuse me." Mr. Creevey had stood and listened to everything, and now he was looking at Hermione's mother. "I couldn't help but overhear. Largely because I was standing right here and listening in on a conversation that really had nothing to do with me. But I would like to tell you a story."

"A story?" Hermione's mother looked at him, looking about as startled as Hermione felt.

"Two years ago," said Mr. Creevey, "my boy Dennis was almost hit by a car."

"I'm Dennis," Dennis added helpfully.

"It happened just outside our home," Mr. Creevey went on. "I still remember it. I had taken the boys out for a walk. Dennis was running ahead, when a car showed up like out of nowhere. I didn't even have the time to call out. Colin, however, did. And just as he called out…" Mr. Creevey paused for a moment, either for dramatic effect or because he was overwhelmed by the memories. "The car that was headed straight for Dennis, instead of hitting him, jumped _over_ him. They were both completely unharmed."

Hermione stared at Colin. How was it _possible_ that someone so fond of talking hadn't even _once_ mentioned that he had once, without even knowing he was a wizard, performed what sounded like an impressive Levitation Charm, and saved his brother from being hit by a car?

At her look, Colin just shrugged.

"Magic saved my youngest son's life," said Mr. Creevey. "Maybe Hogwarts isn't a safe place. But the _world_ isn't a safe place. Our children are lucky enough to have been born with a gift. They have an extra weapon they can use to defend themselves, and others. _We_ can't teach them how to use that weapon, but Hogwarts can. I don't know, seems irresponsible to not let them do that."

Hermione's mother paused at that. Then, she sighed. "I understand what you're saying, Mister…?"

"Creevey."

"Mister Creevey," she agreed. "But It's not the education I have a problem with, it's everything _surrounding_ that education."

"You can't mollycoddle your children all their lives," said Mrs. Longbottom, patting Neville so hard on the shoulder that he almost lost his balance. "If you don't let them fight their own battles, they'll never learn to survive on their own! Sheltering them from everything isn't going to do them any favours, am I right, Neville?"

"Er — yes, Gran." Neville didn't seem completely convinced.

But Hermione's mother shook her head. "I wasn't talking about the danger… though I still don't like the sound of those monsters."

Mrs. Longbottom looked at her. "What _is_ it, then?"

"I —" Hermione's mother began, but then seemed to think better of it. "On second thought, it really isn't my place to say. We've been standing here for far too long as it is. Come along, Hermione, we'll talk more about this at home —"

"Speak your mind, woman!" Mrs. Longbottom ordered. "In for a Knut, in for a Galleon!"

Hermione's mother met her eyes. "Very well," she finally said. "You speak of sheltering? You may not see it, but that's exactly what you're doing to your children. Sheltering them — _isolating_ them, even — from the outside world. They stay in their little world of magic and ignore everything that goes on outside it."

"That's what Professor Flamel warned us about," said Neville. He blinked and then blushed slightly as everyone turned to look at him. "I — I just remembered something," he said.

"You're right, Neville!" said Hermione. "Mum, Professor Flamel, or new Potions teacher, said that exact thing. He said we shouldn't — shouldn't doom ourselves to remain the ignorant and insignificant minority."

"Well." Mrs. Longbottom said. "It seems this is a conversation we should be having elsewhere. You are quite right, my dear lady, we have been standing here for far too long. Tell me," she looked at both Hermione's mother and Mr. Creevey. "Do you both live in London?"

"Well, yes," said Mr. Creevey. "The boys and I have a flat in Islington."

"Our family lives in Hampstead," Hermione offered.

"Excellent," said Mrs. Longbottom. "Neville and I live in Lancashire, but that's no distance to a witch. What do you say we pay you a visit sometime during the holidays? We can discuss school safety and isolation then."

"That sounds interesting," said Mr. Lovegood. "Could we impose as well? The holidays are so quiet after my wife died… Luna and I haven't gone visiting in a long time."

"It really sounds like a good idea," said Hermione. "Please, Mum? It won't hurt to just _talk_ , will it? You don't know any wizards other than the Weasleys… wouldn't it help to get to know a few more? And Mr. Creevey's a Muggle, too, he knows what it's like to have a magical child."

Hermione's mother looked at them all. And then, to Hermione's relief, she laughed. "All right, Little Miss Precocious, I give in," she told Hermione.  Then, she looked at the other adults. "I'll have to talk to my husband, of course, but… what day could we have you over?"

Hermione felt a small sense of relief. Her mother wasn't completely convinced, she could tell, but the way things were going there was a good chance that her parents would let her return to Hogwarts anyway. There would probably be a few more lectures, and Hermione would need to make more promises… but with any luck, she would be back with her friends at Hogwarts, come the new year.

As the adults began discussing which day they could meet, she exchanged glances with Neville, Colin and Luna.

"D'you think it'll be okay?" said Colin.

"You know… I think it will," said Hermione. "This was exactly what Professor Flamel was talking about. If wizards and Muggles don't _talk_ , they'll never learn to understand each other. Maybe this'll start something."

"Like what?" said Dennis, who was looking at them with big eyes.

"Like…" Hermione thought about it. "Maybe a little more contact between parents of Muggle-borns and the rest of the wizarding world? Tom Riddle was wrong — standing alone doesn't make you stronger. It just makes you alone."

 

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED (For the last time, I promise)…**

* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: This is the last we see of Hermione, Neville, Colin and Luna in this particular story, but they'll all be back for "War of the Prophecy." The meeting between their parents and guardians might have some interesting consequences in that story…
> 
> Rita Skeeter will keep making trouble as well. In this story she was really only in the background; I kept wanting to give her an actual appearance but couldn't fit her in.  She'll make a full-fledged appearance in the first chapter of War of the Prophecy, though, and her sensationalist scandal articles will continue to stir up trouble.  
> 
> The next chapter, which will be the final one this time, I promise, marks the first appearance of a fan-favourite character in the Weasley Girl universe. Shouldn't be too hard to figure out who that character is.
> 
> Oh, and finally: Apparently, "Weasley Girl" made the list of ["15 Craziest Harry Potter Fan Fictions Of All Time" at TheThings.com](https://www.thethings.com/15-craziest-harry-potter-fan-fictions-of-all-time/) — alongside both really good stories like "Hogwarts Houses Divided or Like A Redheaded Stepchild," so bad-they're-good ones like "My Immortal," and… "special" stories like "Methods of Rationality."
> 
> I'm not sure how they judge "craziness" here (no way anything I write is half as crazy as My Immortal), but it's flattering to be included all the same!


	23. Epilogue 3 - Prisoner Freed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so, we finally come to the third epilogue and last chapter of Weasley Girl: Secrets of the Past.
> 
> It's been quite a ride, hasn't it? Especially with the insane schedule slips; between writer's block, and several other projects that took up my time, this story took a lot longer to tell than I'd thought. But then, it's also a lot longer than I thought it'd be — around 170 000 words, slightly longer than Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. And that's if we only count the story itself and don't include all my lengthy author's notes into the word count.
> 
> Speaking of which — I'll see you all in the author's notes at the end! Let's get this last epilogue started!

 On a small and desolate island somewhere in the North Sea, stands a large and ancient fortress known as Azkaban.

Its history is long and unpleasant; legend has it that it was originally the home of the Dark sorcerer Ekrizdiz, who is said to have lured, tortured and killed hundreds of Muggle sailors just for the fun of it. After his death, shortly after the Statute of Secrecy was established in the late fifteenth century, the fortress fell into the ownership of the recently-established Ministry for Magic, whose employees had been so terrified and disgusted by its contents that they had declared the place "evil" and would have destroyed the entire building — that is, if they hadn't feared the vengeance of the Dark magic and the even Darker creatures that made their home there.

Azkaban might have been left alone to wither on its secluded island, and maybe been reduced to a footnote in the magical history books, if it hadn't been for Damocles Rowle, the second-ever Minister for Magic.

Rowle, noted as a ruthless and uncompromising man, had been presented with the Ministry's plans to build a high-security magical prison on a small Hebridean island, and decreed it a waste of time and resources. Better, and cheaper, to just send wizard criminals to Azkaban — the fortress was already built, and the Dementors who lived there would be better than any human guards.

Thanks to a long line of Ministers after Rowle who were likewise pro-Azkaban, especially after it became clear just how impossible it was for any criminal to escape from the dreadful place, the prison became known generally as a "necessary evil."

One of Albus Dumbledore's greatest failures — and he would be the first to tell you that they were numerous — was that in his years as the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot he had never been able to convince the Ministry of Magic to close Azkaban down as a prison and instead move prisoners to another, more humane place. Somewhere Dementors didn't constantly hover over them and suck out any happiness and light in their hearts and minds.

Even Dumbledore felt it as he and his two companions approached the fortress. He had never actually set foot on the island before, but it was exactly as he had imagined it: Dark, bleary and cold, cloaked Dementors gliding around soundlessly like shadows. This was a place where the sun never shone, where warmth and joy were forbidden guests.

"You didn't actually have to come with us, Dumbledore," said Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, his face already growing pale. "You could have met him on the mainland."

"Cornelius, an innocent man has suffered this place for eleven years," said Dumbledore. "I will not be so arrogant as to say it was  _all_  my fault, but I must bear part of the blame. Had I not been too blind to see what was in front of my nose, Sirius Black would have been a free man. I owe this to him."

"Well, yes, of course, long as you don't say I didn't warn you," Fudge stammered. "This isn't going to be a picnic."

"Hope you stocked up on chocolate, at least." Kingsley Shacklebolt spoke with his usual calm demeanour.

"I am seldom without a sizeable supply," said Dumbledore.

The three men walked the short distance up to the looming fortress. The air turned colder the closer they got to the building, and to the silent guards gliding around it.

A few Dementors took an interest as they approached and began gliding closer to them. As they did, the cold grew more intense, bone-chilling and relentless.

Kingsley held up his wand. Dementors were blind, and yet they seemed to have some way of telling Aurors apart from other wizards — at least they stopped at a respectable distance when Kingsley said: "Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt. This is Albus Dumbledore, Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot, and Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic. We're here for Sirius Black."

The Dementors remained where they were, their cloaks moving ominously in the wind. If they'd had eyes they would probably have glared at him.

"You've had him for eleven years." Kingsley still spoke calmly, but he couldn't quite keep out the tension in his voice. "Time to let him go."

Reluctantly, the Dementors parted to let the two men pass. They stayed at a distance as Kingsley waved his wand at the heavy iron doors, which slowly swung open with a loud creak.

Entering the fortress felt a lot like stepping into a world of ice and intense misery. A large hallway loomed in front of them, dark and silent with cold, barren stone walls that somehow seemed to be steeped in pain and gloom.

"Come on," said Kingsley. "Let get this over with. Black's on the fifth floor."

The only real sound was their footsteps as they echoed down the corridors of the large fortress, navigating the twisty hallways and staircases of Azkaban. All the way they could feel the icy cold seep into them; thick fur cloaks and warm clothes counting for nothing.

They passed several closed doors; some of them had barred windows through which could be spotted pale and sunken faces; prisoners who had heard the footsteps and who still had the energy and will to move in order to find out who was arriving. None of them looked good; they were hollow-cheeked and pale, and almost all of them looked  _broken._

Dumbledore couldn't help but thinking back to his father Percival, who had been sentenced to this very prison and had died here. Almost morbidly, he caught himself wondering which of the cells his father had been in and whether he'd looked as awful. It wasn't a pleasant thought, but pleasant thoughts never lived a long life in Azkaban. Terrible memories were welling up.  _Ariana…. Gellert…_

"I hope you're not expecting too much, Dumbledore" said Fudge, proving a thankful distraction from Dumbledore's sombre thoughts. "I've met Black. Saw him on my last inspection here. He's not like the other prisoners… cool as you please, converses quite normally… seems more bored than anything. No sane wizard would react to this place in that way."

"We shall see," said Dumbledore, though he feared that Fudge may be right.

"And," Fudge went on, "I hope you don't think that just because I have agreed that Peter Pettigrew is alive and Black is innocent, that I'm willing to accept that ridiculous story of You-Know-Who returning."

"Pettigrew did confirm it. Under Veritaserum, no less."

"Pettigrew is obviously out of his mind. Well, who wouldn't have gone a little funny in the head, after spending eleven years as a rat? Wishful thinking and delusions, Dumbledore! All those ludicrous statements he made…  _He_  might believe that every word he's saying is true, but anyone with half a brain —"

"I have nine students who can confirm speaking to the teenage revenant of Tom Riddle."

"A trick!" Fudge really did look very pale. "I accept that they probably saw  _something_ , but it can't have been — it  _can't_. A hallucination, or a minor spectre. The children wouldn't know the difference, they would be much too young to ever have met the real You-Know-Who…"

Dumbledore looked at him. "And the basilisk? The one that I can confirm was located in the Chamber of Secrets, and that Petrified one student, one teacher and nearly all the ghosts of Hogwarts? Would that too be unable to tell the difference between a minor spectre and the Heir of Slytherin?"

"I…" Fudge stumbled and had to stop. He was heaving for his breath, and it probably wasn't  _only_  the effect of the Dementors.

"Minister?" Kingsley's voice was still admirably calm.

"I'm fine, Kingsley, I'm fine…" Fudge made an earnest effort to pull himself together before looking right at Dumbledore. "Listen here, Dumbledore… I have the greatest respect for you as a wizard and as a teacher, and I've been grateful for all the advice you have provided in my time as Minister, but you have been making these doomsday predictions of yours about You-Know-Who returning for a decade! There has never been any proof! Isn't it time to accept that he's gone?"

"Perhaps," said Dumbledore. "The day you, Cornelius, can freely say his name instead of calling him 'You-Know-Who,' that is the day when I will consider the possibility that he is not coming back."

"Er, well, yes." Fudge visibly shivered. "N-no real point in me saying his name, is there? He's gone and he's not coming back. Let dead Dark wizards lie, I say. There's already too much to be done… releasing Black, arranging a trial for Pettigrew — er, dealing with the basilisk…"

"I have already taken care of that last one," said Dumbledore. "But since you mention the basilisk, there  _is_  another thing to be done in that connection."

"O-oh?"

"Rubeus Hagrid." Dumbledore felt slightly guilty for putting this much pressure on the poor Minister, especially under these circumstances, but sometimes needs must. "If you will not believe me about the return of Tom Riddle, then at least accept that it's been proven that Hagrid had nothing to do with the death of Myrtle Warren fifty years ago."

"Well, yes…" Fudge stammered. "But he did have that giant monstrous spider, didn't he?"

"If he did, it never killed anyone," said Dumbledore. "While he did escape Azkaban due to his young age, and even the Minister at the time believing Myrtle's death had been an accident… surely you must agree that it was a gross miscarriage of justice that Hagrid was expelled while the person who framed him not only got away with it, but even went on to become Head Boy."

"Yes, yes!" Fudge waved his hands frantically. "I'll look into it first chance I get! Now,  _please_ , let us just get Black and get out of here! I don't mind telling you, I'd rather not spend any more time in this place than I need to!"

"His cell's right over here," said Kingsley, leading the way down the corridor and stopping at the far-end door.

The face looking at them through the bars of the cell door was just as pale and hollow-cheeked as the rest of them, but to Dumbledore's relief the eyes held more life and spark than any of the other prisoners.

"Dumbledore," he said.

"Hello, Sirius," said Dumbledore.

It appeared that Fudge had been right: Sirius Black was not affected by Azkaban the way everyone else was. At the very least he appeared cognisant enough; though his voice was rusty from lack of use he spoke calmly. "And Fudge, too. Wasn't expecting visitors today. It's not that long since the last inspection," he said. "Finally accepted the post as Minister for Magic, eh Dumbledore?"

"Hang on there —!" Fudge exclaimed, clearly not liking the word 'finally.'

Sirius ignored him and instead looked at Kingsley. "And you're…" He paused. "Sorry, I forget your name."

"Kingsley Shacklebolt. We've met, but it's been a while."

"If you say so. New to the Aurors, are you?"

"If you count five years' service as 'new,' then yes," said Kingsley.

"Five years…" Sirius's face didn't change at all, nor did his voice get any less calm. "I think my sense of time isn't what it once was."

"Could we perhaps get this over with?" said Fudge, rather impatiently. "Kingsley, if you would…?"

Kingsley pulled out his wand and lightly tapped the cell door, which creaked horribly as it swung open.

Sirius was standing in the doorframe, and now Dumbledore got a good look at him. He was thin and haggard-looking, dressed in well-worn, slightly tattered grey clothes, his hair had not been washed in ages and his beard was scruffy — and yet, he stood steady enough and his eyes were clear as they took on a slightly suspicious gleam. "What's going on?"

"I have good news, Black," said Fudge, trying to look big and important despite being pale and shivering. "You're being released."

"Yeah, right," said Sirius, his expression not changing one bit.

"It's true. I only regret this did not happen sooner," said Dumbledore. "But we know about the switched Secret-Keepers. Peter Pettigrew has been discovered — alive."

For the first time, Sirius's eyes widened in shock, and then he began shaking his head. "No," he whispered hoarsely. "No, it couldn't be, not after all these years… He's dead, I saw him blow himself up…" Then he snapped back, practically leaping out of his cell to grab the front of Dumbledore's robe. "Where is he?" he demanded, his eyes fierce. "Is he here?!"

"Steady now, Black!" said Fudge feebly. "Pettigrew's awaiting trial —"

"Trial?!" Sirius roared, letting go of Dumbledore to turn towards the Minister. "That bastard doesn't deserve a trial!"

"Now, now, everyone deserves a trial —" said Fudge nervously.

 _"I_  never got a trial!" Sirius growled. "You just threw me in here!"

"I-I can't take responsibility for that." Despite the cold, Fudge looked like he was sweating. "That happened long before I became Minister… Barty Crouch wasn't one to grant trials, you know how fanatical he was about catching and punishing Dark wizards. He barely gave his own son a trial! Besides — I read the reports from the scene, you were ranting about how you had killed James and Lily Potter… what was anyone to think?"

Sirius drew his breath as if to snap at Fudge… but then he seemed to deflate. "It might as well have been me who killed them," he said softly. "It was all my idea. Every single night, I remember that it was all my idea. I thought I had the most brilliant plan ever… the perfect ruse. I thought that if I made Peter the Secret-Keeper, and made sure that everyone believed that _I_ was the Secret-Keeper, Voldemort would come after  _me_ … but he wouldn't get anything out of me. Peter would be safe, and so would James and Lily. I never thought… I never  _dreamed_  that  _Peter_  would be the traitor!" His voice raised to a savage snarl.  _"I'm going to kill him!"_

"That would be an understandable action, but alas, under the circumstances not an advisable one," said Dumbledore.

"I don't care!" Sirius hissed. "I've spent _years_  in this hellhole for murdering that bloody rat, and I'm bloody well going to  _do_  it!"

"Nevertheless, it is a bad idea to announce your intention to murder in the presence of the Auror who has come to release you…"

"I didn't hear a thing," said Kingsley.

"…not to mention the Minister for Magic who has issued your release." Dumbledore gave Fudge a meaningful look.

"Well…" Fudge said nervously. "Obviously, considering the circumstances, some lenience must be allowed… er… nevertheless, it's probably not a good idea to let the two within sight of each other. Now, can we  _please_  get out of here?"

Kingsley nodded and motioned for them all to follow him.

The four men set out to walk back down the long and twisty corridor, past the cell doors and past the various faces that for the most part seemed too far gone to be interested in the fact that Sirius was being set free. Well… there were a couple of exceptions. From one cell, a dark-haired woman was watching under heavy eyelids.

Bellatrix Lestrange,  _née_ Black, had once been a beautiful woman. But after eleven years in Azkaban, there wasn't much of her beauty left. She was as pale and thin and hollow-cheeked as Sirius, her hair was a tangled, grimy mess and she had dark rings under her eyes. However, she didn't seem quite as apathetic as the other prisoners, and as they passed her cell she watched them with something that almost seemed like interest.

"Leaving so soon, cousin?" she rasped. There was a definite hint of instability in her voice, as if she couldn't quite decide whether to whisper or scream.

"Shut up, Bella," Sirius growled.

Bellatrix didn't dignify that with a response.  _"Please_  tell me you're sentencing him to be Kissed by the Dementors, Fudge," she said hoarsely. "It's always so cold in here… the thought of dear Sirius having his soul sucked out of him would keep me warm for the next five years."

"You just be quiet in there!" Fudge snapped, doing what under the circumstances was a pretty impressive job of keeping his voice straight. "Come along, everyone — we're leaving, follow Kingsley."

They followed Kingsley, back out towards the exit.

"Mad as a loon, that one," Sirius muttered. "Never liked her, even when we were children…" he paused, as if a thought had struck him. "How long have I been in here?"

"Sirius," said Dumbledore. "You have been in here for eleven years. I am frankly amazed you are still sane."

There was a long pause, and they walked along in silence, Finally, when they had reached the first floor, Sirius muttered: "Not so certain I am. Sane, I mean. Do you know what I've missed most of all, being in here? It's stupid. You'll never guess."

Despite himself, Dumbledore felt a tinge of curiosity. Only a short while in here and already  _he_  was starting to have problems remembering the good things from outside. Any positive memory that had survived in here for over a decade had to be either exceptionally strong, or so trivial that it barely counted as a positive memory…

"I miss doing the bloody crossword in the  _Daily Prophet,"_  said Sirius.

Dumbledore blinked. Whatever he'd imagined that Sirius would say, that hadn't been it.

"Told you it was stupid," said Sirius joylessly. "I can't remember what the sun looks like, or what it feels like to eat something I actually like the taste of… but I do remember that the  _Daily Prophet_  had some good crosswords. Is that rag still in print, by the way?"

"Indeed it is," said Dumbledore. "I shall personally see to it that you get a copy of today's edition, with the crossword unsolved."

Sirius didn't smile; not after eleven years in Azkaban. Yet there was a faint gleam in his eyes that suggested that he  _would_  have smiled, if he'd been any shape to do it.

"And there are people outside who are anxious to see you again," Dumbledore went on.

The gleam in Sirius's eyes vanished. All of a sudden, he looked mortified _. "Moony!"_  he exclaimed. "I mean — Remus. I can't face him! Not after — not after all that happened. Not after…" He took a deep breath. "I thought he was the traitor. That was why I never told him that we'd swapped Secret-Keepers. I thought it was him! How could I have! I was supposed to be his friend… and I suspected him and I trusted that rat Peter!"

"Whatever your sins were, Sirius, you have more than paid for them," said Dumbledore. "Remus does not blame you. Indeed, as wretched as you are feeling for suspecting him, he is feeling as bad — or nearly as bad, given that he has stayed clear of Dementors — for thinking  _you_  were the traitor. He would very much like to see you. Also there's Harry…"

Sirius blinked. "Harry?" he said uncertainly.

For a moment, Dumbledore was concerned. If happy thoughts and memories really couldn't survive in Azkaban, perhaps Sirius had forgotten Harry. But then, to his relief, realisation dawned in the man's eyes.

 _"Harry!"_ Sirius repeated. "My God, he must be old enough to have started Hogwarts now! How is he?  _Where_  is he?"

"For the last question, he is currently staying with the Weasleys. You will see him soon enough," Dumbledore promised.

"Weasleys," said Sirius. "I'm not sure I know the name…"

"Perhaps you never met them, but I think you will like them," said Dumbledore. "They are taking good care of Harry. As for  _how_  he is… Well, under the circumstances, he is doing well. I will tell you everything when we're back at the mainland and you have had the chance to recover a little. I trust that is acceptable, Cornelius?"

"What? Oh, yes," said Fudge. "Of course, whatever you say. Now let's get out of here."

"Hold on." As he was about to exit through the heavy iron doors, Sirius suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. "There is something I  _have_  to do first."

Fudge grimaced. "Surely it can wait until we've left this place?"

"No. I have to do it now. Don't worry, it'll only take a moment. Excuse me." Sirius looked at the Minister and then calmly walked back into the cold darkness. He stopped a few feet in and stood still, swaying slightly back and forth as if he was about to faint. Then, all of a sudden he screamed: " _I'M GOING TO TRASH THIS FUCKING HELLHOLE! I'LL TEAR IT DOWN, BRICK BY BRICK! THERE WON'T BE A STONE LEFT WHEN I'M FINISHED WITH IT!"_

Kingsley grabbed Sirius by his collar and hauled him out of the building.

Fudge shivered and turned to Dumbledore with a pained expression. "Are you certain we're doing the right thing by releasing him? There are a lot of voters who won't like this…"

"Cornelius," said Dumbledore. "Some things are more important than voters. Let us get back to the mainland."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Peter Pettigrew nervously paced the small holding cell.

He had no wand, no escape. He couldn't even turn into a rat and escape, because now everyone knew he was an illegal Animagus, and they had him under various spells that made it impossible to change shape at all. And even if he had been up to the task of Apparating away, there were Anti-Apparating jinxes on the cell.

They'd told him that he was only going to be here for a very short time, before he was transferred over to Azkaban. Oh, there was supposed to be a trial in between, but at this point the trial was just a formality, and no matter what happened he would be looking at a life-sentence.

In one way, it was almost  _(almost!)_  a relief. For eleven years he had been on the run, staying in rat form, never daring to take on his true shape. Now that everything was out, there was nothing more to do.

And yet….  _Azkaban_. The name alone struck fear into his heart. A place where Dementors prowled, where he'd be caught in a never-ending spiral of nightmares and terrible memories until he gave up and went crazy… or until he gave up and died, like Barty Crouch Junior had done.

And getting any help from the returning Dark Lord wasn't very likely. Yes, Peter had helped bring him back to life, but he'd also abandoned him there in the Chamber of Secrets. After that, he'd be  _lucky_  if all the Dark Lord did was decide to leave him to rot in Azkaban.

Peter flopped down onto the small bed he had been provided. How long would he last? A decade? A year? A month? It was all that damn cat's fault — the cat and Lucius Malfoy. Life as Scabbers hadn't been too bad, really; he could have stayed as a Weasley pet for years still… If Ronnie hadn't decided to get that cat, and if Lucius hadn't stupidly decided to give Ronnie the diary.

Oh, if he'd had either of them here right now…! Oh, wouldn't he just —!

"I did hear rumours that there was a rat here in the holding cell." The voice came from outside the cell, shaking Peter out of his thoughts.

He looked up and there, through the small hatch in the solid wooden door, he saw the face of Lucius Malfoy.

Immediately, Peter was on his feet. "Lucius!" he said, trying as hard as he could to turn on the charm. It wasn't easy, because even Peter had to admit that charm wasn't one of his major qualities… but he did his best, trying to smile at the man. "My friend! It's been such a long time…"

"Not long enough," said Lucius coolly. "I must congratulate you, Pettigrew. Everyone truly thought you were dead. No-one ever dreamed that you were such a coward that you would rather spend eleven years as a rat than face the consequences of your actions like a man."

Unlike Ronnie, Peter wasn't stupid or impulsive enough to needlessly provoke someone like Lucius. And so, he refrained from pointing out that pretending you had been under the Imperius to get out of Azkaban, like Lucius and his family had done, did not really seem like  _'facing the consequences of your actions like a man.'_

"Listen," he said. "This is all just a  _terrible_  misunderstanding! You know all about terrible misunderstandings, don't you, Lucius? These people seem to think I've confessed to murder, but it was really all —"

"I did not come here to listen to your inane prattle!" Lucius snapped. "I merely wished to see whether or not it truly was you. I wanted to know for certain who I had to thank for me no longer being on the Hogwarts Board of Governors."

"Oh, er, I really don't know what you're talking about," said Peter — which was almost true. He didn't  _know,_  but he had a pretty good guess. "I didn't even know you  _were_  on the Board of Governors, much less that you had been fired from it."

"I wasn't  _fired,"_  said Lucius. "I stepped down on my own accord." He lowered his voice to a threatening whisper. "Apparently, investigations are going on tied to  _your_  recent activities at Hogwarts, and the fact that  _my_  name came up in several of your statements to the Ministry."

"What?" Peter tried to look shocked. "They must have misunderstood something I said! We were  _friends_  back in the old days, Lucius! Both of us Imperiused and controlled by the Dark Lord —"

"Luckily," Lucius interrupted him, "the Minister for Magic was very understanding, pointing out what a model citizen I have always been, and that these accusations were obviously fabricated. But I did agree to — at least temporarily — step down as the Head of the Board of Governors. There are certain  _headaches_  I do not need in my life right now."

"I'm terribly sorry, but it really wasn't my fault!" said Peter, though even he could hear how unconvincing he sounded.

"Hmm." Lucius game him an icy stare, and then pulled away from the hatch. "We're done here. I would say 'have fun in Azkaban,' but we both know you're not going to."

"Wait, Lucius!" Peter cried, rushing up to the door. "You can't just leave me here! You know what it's like to be innocently accused of being a Death Eater, you have to… Lucius?  _LUCIUS!"_

"All right, Pettigrew, calm down!" came the voice of the guard. "And Mr. Malfoy, if you're satisfied that it truly is him, then I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Strictly speaking, it was stretching the rules to allow you here in the first place."

"Rules are wonderful things, of course," said Lucius smoothly, "but I'm glad that our Ministry is wise enough to realise that there are times when it pays to be a little flexible with its rules. By the say, Shingleton, how is your wife?"

"Oh, er, much better, thank you very much!" The guard's tone changed to one of relieved gratitude. "They say she can come home next week!"

"Glad to hear it," said Lucius. "It does my heart good to know that my donations to St. Mungo's are put to good use…"

Peter sank down onto the floor as Lucius's footsteps vanished down the corridor outside.

He didn't know how long he sat there. The thing about spending any amount of time in a holding cell with no windows and no connection to the outside world apart from one guard (and one brief visit from an old acquaintance who apparently just stopped by to sneer at you), is that time quickly becomes hard to keep track of. Especially if you are on the verge of despair and you know that sometime in the near future, someone is going to come and fetch you to bring you to the place of your worst nightmares, and you have no hope of escaping. And now, time was stretching out like an impossibly wide ocean in front of him; an ocean where he couldn't even see the shore — but didn't even know if he  _wanted_  to see the shore because that shore would inevitably be Azkaban island.

So it might have been an hour, or several hours, or even half a day for all he knew, when there was a sudden noise from right in front of him.

Startled, Peter looked up to stare straight at the ugly, long-nosed face of a house-elf.

"What —" he began.

"Shh!" The elf quickly placed a large hand over Peter's mouth, silencing him. "Mister Pettygrow must be quiet!"

Peter had seen plenty of house-elves in his life, of course — happy days of his youth when he, along with James, Sirius and Remus, would sneak into the Hogwarts kitchens to beg extra treats from the kitchen elves — but where the Hogwarts elves were healthy-looking, dressed in pure white tea-towels, and were beaming and eager servitude, this one looked anxious, haggard and unhealthily skinny. He — yes, it probably was a he, although who could tell with house-elves? —was wearing only a dirty pillowcase and a number of even dirtier bandages (no doubt the result of eager self-punishment), and he looked like he would rather be anywhere else than here.

"Dobby will remove his hand if Mister Pettygrow promises not to scream," he whispered.

Peter nodded, helplessly.

The elf, whose name was apparently Dobby, removed his hand. "Dobby is sorry," he said. "But the guard mustn't hear us."

"Who  _are_  you?" Peter managed to keep his voice quiet. "What are you doing here?"

"Dobby, sir, Dobby the house-elf." Dobby took a huge breath. "Dobby's master has sent him to fetch you, Mister Pettygrow."

 _"Fetch_ me?!" A strange mix of hope and terror arose in Peter's heart.

"Dobby obeys his master. Dobby must always obey his master, no matter what. And Master says, go fetch Mister Pettygrow, I want to have a word with him. Make sure the guard does not know you are there. So Dobby must obey," said Dobby, and looked none too pleased about the fact.

"Oh, really?" said Peter. He tried to sound flippant about it, as if he'd expected for something like this to happen. "Well, fancy that. And who might your master be?"

"You will see if you comes with Dobby, sir."

Peter looked at the elf's outstretched hand. "But how?" he protested. "There are all sorts of jinxes and spells on this cell —"

"Means nothing to a house-elf, Mister Pettygrow," said Dobby. "Take Dobby's hand, and we is off before the guard knows."

Peter looked at Dobby's hand again. Then, steeling himself, he decided that he didn't really have any alternative. He reached out and grabbed the bandaged hand.

And vanished.

 

* * *

  **THE END! (For now…)**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that was that! This is officially the last chapter of Secrets of the Past. Twenty chapters, two epilogues, and more than 160 000 words excluding author's notes, this is the longest story I've ever written.
> 
> Except we're not done, of course. Much of the point of all three epilogues was to set up some of the things for the next story in the series, "Weasley Girl: War of the Prophecy." Where we'll see more of Fudge, more of Sirius, more of Bellatrix, more of Lucius, Dobby and Wormtail… and more of Rita Skeeter, who definitely isn't done creating trouble for our protagonists. She was actually supposed to have a brief appearance in the second epilogue, but I just couldn't fit her in, so her scene has been moved to the beginning of "War of the Prophecy" instead.
> 
> It'll be the final story in the series, it'll be the first one to be told from multiple POVs, and it'll probably be the longest. (Like JKR, I already know what the final word in the story will be. We'll see if, unlike JKR, I'll be able to keep that word the final one, or not.)
> 
> Before that, though, there'll be the interquel "Moaning Myrtle's Party," which will tie up a couple of loose ends from this story before the next main one can fully begin. Like "The Leapling," it won't be essential reading in order to understand the main series, but it'll explore some things a little more closely and hopefully be entertaining in its own right. 
> 
> And there's also that one novella-length story that I'm plotting out, though I'm not yet sure where in the continuity it'll happen.
> 
> This entry in the series is, however, at an end. Thanks for reading, and here's to hoping we'll see each other again for further adventures of Potter's Gang!


End file.
